Before and After
by butterfly collective
Summary: How can an incident that occurred in the past impact those people in the future? Some of the characters are about to find out.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1---Hi, here's a story on MASH, one of my favorite shows even in reruns. I hope you enjoy it, I'm not sure where it's going but I enjoy revisiting the characters. I hope you like it. What do you think?

* * *

Hawkeye sipped his martini from where he sat inside the Swamp, the cramped tent which served as the home away from home for him and two other surgeons. One them, B.J. had just arrived a few moments ago from his shift in post-op and flopped himself on his bunk, his feet hanging over the edge.

"Tough night," Hawkeye asked.

At the 4077, that question like many just like it was purely rhetorical. But more often than not, it led to some interesting discussions and proved a godsend when one of them really had to get something off of his chest and needed a sounding board.

B.J. popped an eye open from beneath the arm he had propped over his face.

"No more than every night," he said, "The Johnson kid had to go back in the O.R. because we missed a frag."

"Damn," Hawkeye said, "how did he present?"

"Febrile and abdominal pain and distention," B.J. said, "Luckily Margaret was there and we got a gas man and opened his belly back up."

"Where'd you find it," Hawkeye asked.

B.J. sighed.

"Near the sigmoid colon," he said, "where it could have done a lot of damage."

"No peritonitis?"

B.J. shook his head still lying beneath his arm.

"Close but not close enough."

Hawkeye went back to the still and dug up another glass.

"Would you like some of the latest brew," he said, "You know what they say, no one should drink alone."

B.J. sat up finally, knowing that sleep wasn't likely with the summer sun already blazing a trail across the sky over their section of Korea.

"Okay, just a little," he said, "They also say you shouldn't drink and drive and I might go take an evening drive to see the sights."

"They're all still there," Hawkeye said, helpfully.

Hawkeye nursed some more liquor out of the still and handed the glass to B.J.

"Thanks partner," B.J. said.

Hawkeye looked around the tent, with piles of magazines and clothing tossed about haphazardly on the area that housed him and B.J. Then his eyes focused on the other side of the tent which served as a contradiction with its organized and tidy section, right down to its neatly made cot.

"Where's Charles," Hawkeye asked, idly.

B.J. shrugged.

"He relieved me from post-op," he said, "in fact he arrived early."

Hawkeye raised his eyebrows.

"In fact if I didn't know better, I would think he's going after your chief surgeon position," B.J said, drinking his martini.

Hawkeye laughed, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh no," he said, "He's not going to get away with doing that. If I didn't let Ferret Face do it, I'm not going to let this blue-blooded boob even try."

"Relax Hawkeye," B.J. said, "You're chief surgeon. You've got seniority. You've been here the longest."

Hawkeye picked up his empty martini glass and B.J. thought he was going to help himself to another serving at the still. Instead, Hawkeye waved it at him.

"Watch it with that," B.J. said, putting his hands up.

"Hey B.J., there's more to being chosen as the chief surgeon than just seniority," he said, "It's the person with the best skills at the table and at setting an example."

B.J. smiled.

"What is this I detect," he said, "a little bit of ego? Okay, so you got it because you're the best surgeon at the 4077."

"Thank you," he said, "Charles might be a great chest cutter but I'm the decathlete of surgery here."

B.J. looked at him closely.

"Don't take it that far," he said, "We never had a Olympics for surgeons. No gold medals for saving someone's life or silvers for coming close."

"Every day's the Olympics when there's a war going on," Hawkeye mumbled, "but your point is well taken."

The door to the Swamp swung open, not an uncommon occurrence at all hours of the day and night. This time, Hawkeye looked up to see Corporal Maxwell Klinger waltz in with some mail.

"Here's some of magazines for you Capt. Pierce," he said, tossing them in his direction, "and I swear those crease marks on the pages aren't mine."

Hawkeye flipped through one featuring nudists of the female persuasion playing a game that looked similar to volleyball and then smacked the magazine on his cot.

"I thought by upping my subscription to first class," he said, "It would have cut down on the prying hands."

"It could have been Sparky," Klinger said, "If you find any peanut butter cookie crumbs on your ladies, his mother sends them every month."

Hawkeye brought the magazine to his nose and took a whiff. He turned towards Klinger with a stern eye.

"My nose though not as sensitive as yours has picked up a faint odor of a special brand of Lebanese sausage which is sent to a certain company clerk every month by _his_ mother."

Klinger shrugged his shoulders.

"Then it's Rizzo," he said, "I have him a piece to prop up a jeep that he was fixing."

Hawkeye rolled his eyes.

"Likely story," he said, rattling his magazine to make sure that every crumb, incriminating or otherwise, shook loose.

Klinger tossed several letters to B.J. who put down his martini to pick them up. Three other letters including one bearing a slight scent of lilacs landed on Charles' empty cot.

"That one must be from that woman he met on his last leave," Hawkeye said, after he had jumped on Charles' cot to look through his mail.

"Hey, you can't open someone else's mail," he said, "that's against the law and a couple of commandments too though I'll have to check with the Father on that one."

"I'm not opening Charles' mail," Hawkeye insisted, "I'm just examining it as an olfactory delight."

"Uh huh Capt. Pierce," a doubtful Klinger said, before he snatched them away, "I think I'll just go deliver these to Maj. Winchester personally."

Hawkeye lay back down in his bunk, left with nothing left to do. Then he sat up suddenly, as if a light turned on.

"When did Margaret get back?"

* * *

Margaret headed off to the shower after getting off her shift in post-op. She had spent the past eight hours working there, fresh off the jeep that had dropped her off back at the 4077. She had taken her luggage and quietly walked to her tent but only stayed there long enough to drop it off, before racing to cover one of the nurses who worked in post-op who seemed shocked to see her show up.

"Major, I didn't expect to see you back yet," the nurse said, "After all, I took your shift for you."

Margaret pulled her white coat on over her formal uniform.

"I know, but I'm back so you can turn the work over to me and head off to get some sleep," she said.

The nurse looked at her quizzically. After all, it wasn't every day that people at the MASH came back from their leaves early. Not that no one ever came back all that late, but even fewer came back before their leave had expired.

Still the nurse left and ran back to her tent before the Major could change her mind. Margaret had walked up to talk to B.J. who looked surprised to see her there.

"What are you doing back already," he asked.

She waved her hand and looked around the room that was filled with patients, mostly the young men they were so used to seeing.

"I felt I had seen and done enough of Tokyo already and felt I needed to come back," was all she said, before tending to a young man who slept fitfully. She didn't speak much the rest of the shift.

Now Margaret stepped into the shower and began running the water, thankful that it felt good on her shoulders. She shampooed her hair thinking about her time away from the 4077 then she heard the sounds of mortar from the distance.

_Casualties_, she thought, _they'll be bringing them in soon_.

She hurried up her shower even though she didn't want to and threw on her robe without drying herself.

Hawkeye sat on his cot looking at his magazines while B.J. took a nap, covering his face against the sun. Then the intercom broke the silence of a unit at an uneasy rest between periods of action inside and out of the O.R.

"_Choppers incoming_," the intercom sounded dutifully.

The entire MASH unit sprung to life in an instant and everyone started running.

* * *

He broke up from his sleep, covered in sweat and looked around him. The clock read, 3 A.M. and the area of the bed next to where he slept was empty, covers thrown up. He shook his head, and pulled his body out of bed and walked towards the window, looking outside.

He didn't know what to do at that point. He knew he should try to sleep because the medical convention would be holding most of its interesting seminars this morning, so he got back into bed and lay down looking at the ceiling. He knew sleep would be a long time coming.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's chapter 2, I hope that you enjoy reading it! Thanks for the feedback and for reading my story!

* * *

Margaret had walked out of the shower and saw only one thing in front of her and that was her tent. And inside her tent was her cot, where she would crash for the next 12 hours or so. But she knew it would have to wait. She and the others in the MASH were facing what was likely another 36 hour stint spent cleaning up and stitching back together another battalion that had tried to retake a hill from the North Koreans in time for the presidential state of the union's address in their country thousands of miles and a life time away.

It hadn't worked. The North Korean armies had been ready and waiting, with much greater fire power. They had wiped out an aid station or two while at it. So soldiers ripped up by bullets and mortar shared space on ambulances and army buses with the doctors and nurses who had been treating them.

A sign which designated the 4077th and its motto, "_best care anywhere_" met them at the entrance and as the vehicles drove through, they were greeted by a lot of activity of men and women in various states of dress running around and setting up triage centers for the casualties.

Margaret, dressed only in her Kimono robe joined several of her nurses to help with the triage. The doctors went from patient to patient examining them and then making decisions usually left up to the gods by deciding which injuries were minor, which were life-threatening. Which soldiers could be saved and which would not.

Father John Francis Xavier Mulcahey stood watch, waiting for any surgeons to gesture him over to administer last rites for any patients.

"This one can wait," B.J. said, "Shrapnel wounds in right thigh. Superficial."

Klinger and another orderly pulled away his stretcher and it was quickly replaced by another. This time B.J. looked down at it and shook his head.

"Bleeding out everywhere," he said, taking the vitals, "I don't know if we can get him on the table before he crashes."

Hawkeye looked at him, from his position a short distance away dealing with a young soldier wearing a head bandage.

"Are you going to try," he asked.

B.J. nodded, looked at the guy's tags and then called for corpsmen.

"He's going in right away," he said, "and we need two units of A- blood."

Klinger ran up to them.

"I'll see what I can find," he said.

"If we're out of units," B.J. said, "Round up any A-donors we have in camp."

Margaret ran up to where Hawkeye had been checking a Marine's eyes for any response.

"Do you think he's going to make it," she asked.

He gazed over at her, taking in the Kimono.

"I see you got back from your leave in one piece," he said, "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

She shrugged and rolled up the Marine's sleeve to take a blood pressure.

"I don't think he's got much of one left," Hawkeye sighed, "He's got a bleeder inside."

Margaret sighed.

"Do you want to bring him in," she asked.

Hawkeye nodded.

"I'm not ready to give up on him yet," he said, gesturing for Klinger and Igor to carry him in the O.R.

* * *

Later, in the pre-op room, the doctors tied each others' gowns on and they scrubbed up before going into the operating theater.

"Pierce, if the head wound doesn't look like he's going to pull through…"

Hawkeye closed his eyes and nodded.

"There's a dozen more men who might make it stacked behind him," he said, "But I'm going to try everything I can and hope something in my bag of tricks will save him."

Colonial Potter patted him on the shoulder.

"Okay," he said, "wouldn't expect anything less from you."

* * *

Hawkeye went inside the cramped and crowded O.R. to find his patient who was already knocked out with Margaret already tending to him.

"How is he," he said.

Margaret looked up at him.

"I don't think he's got much time left if you don't open him up quickly," she said.

Sweat beaded on Hawkeye's brow and another nurse wiped it away so he could see more clearly. He cut the man open and saw the damage inside.

"Damn," he said, "Looks like a battlefield."

Margaret took a look at what he saw.

"Where do you want to start Doctor?"

He appreciated her injecting calm and reason in a situation where he felt those qualities elude him. But what he was looking at was a death sentence that not even the miraculous hands of Dr. Benjamin Pierce could fix.

* * *

Hawkeye sat in the Officer's Club which was buzzing with activity since they had finished operating on the last wave of casualties to come in the MASH. After 12 hours on their feet, most people would head back to sleep it off but the people at the unit were usually too wired up to sleep so they did the next best thing, they got drunk.

Ordering another round of vodka did little to lift Hawkeye's spirits which had been in the basement since he lost his patient despite his best efforts to save him. He had even tried open heart massage, grabbing the dying organ in his hand and trying to coax and then bully it back to life, but the man still faded away. In fact, he had actually died a minute or so before Hawkeye had moved on down his list to that action of last resort. Margaret's gentle voice telling him to let the man go brought him back to reality and he didn't yell at Mulcahy who moved closer to the man to read him his last rites . Now, hours later, Hawkeye sat in his favorite chair at the Officer's Club trying to forget.

B.J. sat down next to him and kicked his huge feet up on the table after asking Igor to pour him some Scotch. None of his patients had died but he drank to forget that he had a life back home in San Francisco, thousands of miles away. A wife named Peg and a button of a girl named Erin, who he remembered through photos his wife sent him in the mail. He kept worn photos of them in a pocket close to his heart even when out drinking to forget.

"So what is a guy like you doing in a place like this," B.J. drawled.

Hawkeye took another sip of his drink.

"Hoping to forget the war," he said, "but it never works, not even in my dreams."

"I'm trying to forget my home," B.J. said, sighing as he pulled out the worn photo from his pocket again, "Never works.

"Then you've picked the right place to wet your whistle," Hawkeye said, then looked at B.J.'s glass, "but you need a refill."

B.J. brushed him off.

"This is enough for now," he said, "At least until we get back to the Swamp."

Hawkeye smiled.

"Ahhh, we'll find some real gin there," he said, "The still's been working on it all day."

Klinger came waltzing by trying to sell customers his latest invention but most people were shaking their heads at him. A few hours and a few more drinks later, he's find a more responsive crowd. Margaret walked in the bar and headed to the bar.

"She's late tonight," Hawkeye noted.

B.J. looked at her asking Igor for a Scotch which he dutifully poured in a glass for her.

"Unlike her leave where she left early," he said.

Margaret started walking to find a seat in the crowded room. Hawkeye saw the uncertainty in her face and padded a chair.

"Come and join us Margaret," Hawkeye said, "and B.J. here will buy the next round."

B.J. lifted his brows.

"I will," he asked.

"I bought two rounds last time," Hawkeye said.

"No you didn't," B.J. said, folding his arms.

"Well I would have, if I had the money," Hawkeye corrected.

Margaret sat down and gulped half of her Scotch down while both men watched her.

"You must have been thirsty," Hawkeye observed.

She put her glass down and just looked at them.

"What are you looking at," she said.

They both looked away.

"Nothing," Hawkeye said, "I just assumed that the last place you'd want to be after three days of leave would be hanging out with a bunch of army folk."

She narrowed her eyes at him then took another sip.

"You assumed wrong."

"Why did you come back so early," he continued, "Most of us have to be dragged kicking and screaming back to camp. But you…"

She shrugged.

"I was ready to come back this morning," she said, "So I hopped on a bus, a plane, a jeep and here I am."

Hawkeye rested his chin on his hand.

"So what did you do," he asked.

She reared up her head.

"Excuse me," she said, "why do you ask?"

"Margaret, you know how vicariously we all live here for each others' experiences when they get away from this hell hole at least for a little while," Hawkeye said.

B.J. chimed in.

"Yeah Margaret," he said, "Did you have fun?"

"What is this, an inquisition," she said, finishing the rest of her Scotch.

"Listen Margaret," Hawkeye said, "I had a rough day in the O.R. and I'd just like to hear something that makes me forget that I lost a patient today."

Her face softened.

"_We _lost a patient today," she said, "I was there."

He nodded.

"Okay, so we both lost someone," he said, "So tell us about the great time you had."

Margaret's face changed and a mixture of emotions battled for control of it, but years of military experience and training won out.

"It was okay," she said, "I'm going to get a refill on my glass."

She walked back to the bar and both men looked at her.

"Boy, she sounds absolutely thrilled for someone who just came back on a fabulous leave to Toyko," B.J. said.

Hawkeye studied her.

"Yeah she does," he said thoughtfully.

* * *

The clock woke him up again, but this time sunlight had streamed through the hotel room, enough to roust him from his fitful slumber. He got up and stumbled to the shower, not sure where he had left his suitcase that contained his clothes. In one hour, the medical conference would begin and he still had to rinse away this morning's hangover. If he hurried, he might just make it. But then why the rush? He had been to more than a few of these conferences. What was so different about this one?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3---The latest in the fanfiction. Sorry it's been so long. Still outlining this story. I hope you enjoy reading it and thanks for the comments!

* * *

Margaret tossed and turned beneath the light covers of her cot before kicking them off of her bed entirely. Her body like that of everyone's in camp was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration which would turn into rivulets of sweat before sunrise. Summer had hit Korea and there was no escaping from it. At least the Monsoon season hadn't hit yet and turned the camp into a muddy river for a couple of months.

Part of her still remained in Tokyo inside a hotel room which included in its price a real bed, with linens and the greatest prize of all, a private bathroom complete with a tub. Usually after two days spent hitching a jeep to Seoul and then hopping onto a series of airplanes each more dubiously constructed than its predecessor, she dropped her luggage on the bed inside her room and jumped into the tub after filling it with warm water and a tiny bit of perfume oil that she saved especially for these trips. She would strip off her clothes which picked up and dutifully stored every odor collectd during her journey from plane fuel to cigarette smoke and would lie in the tub for hours, her eyes closed.

But this trip had been different from the moment she had finished her much anticipated bath and had gotten dressed to pick up a meal at a little restaurant down the street and she knew why. She just didn't want to think about it. What had happened had been so unexpected, which no doubt had been responsible for t he way she had behaved. She sighed while lying in her hot tent, thinking that at least she'd had the sense to leave Tokyo on an earlier flight.

She heard a knock on her door. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was around 2 a.m. Time was meaningless on nights like this one which stretched out forever.

"Who is it?"

"It's Hawkeye," he said, "I was making my nightly rounds to make sure that everyone was tucked away in their bed and I noticed some tossing and turning inside your tent."

Margaret shot up in her bed to a sitting position.

"Pierce," she said, "How dare you disturb me after hours when I'm trying to sleep."

"Margaret, this isn't convent school," he said, "There's no curfew here and I had something I wanted to discuss with you."

Her temper flared.

"At this time of night," she said, "What could possibly be so important?"

He hesitated and she could hear him shifting from one foot to another outside her tent.

"We need to discuss tomorrow's duty roster," he said.

She shot out of bed and rushed to the door, opening it at last.

"You woke me up to discuss a duty roster that could wait until at least 0800?"

He nodded.

"Why, you're lucky that I'm not holding anything in my hands," she said, "Or it would be flying in your direction."

Hawkeye sighed, trying to stand out of her line of fire.

"Shouldn't you put on a robe or something?"

She looked down suddenly, noticing she had her olive green tee-shirt and a pair of loose knit khaki shorts.

"I am dressed," she said, "and I was trying to get some sleep until you rudely knocked on my door under some pretext…"

His eyebrows raised.

"Pretext," he said, "Frankly, I resemble that comment."

She pointed her finger at him.

"Ah-ha, I knew there was something else you wanted to talk about," she said, "And it's probably something dirty."

He folded his arms.

"Now I'm offended," he said, "I just wanted to ask you how your trip to Tokyo went and if it involved anything 'dirty', remember who brought it up first."

She sighed.

"Why do you care about how my leave went," she said, "It's none of your business."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Now you really have me curious," he said, "Is there anything the Major would like to get off of her chest?"

She glared at him, shaking her head.

"Nothing," she said, "All this major wants is to be left alone so she can try to get some sleep."

"But…"

She slammed the door in his face and walked back to her cot. Hawkeye rubbed his face and shaking his head continued his wanderings.

* * *

Morning finally came as it always did even in Korea and everyone pretended to stretch and rise out of bed because no one had really slept the night before while others tried to use the relative cool of an 85 degree dawn to squeeze in a few winks before the sun really came out again.

Klinger flapped his arms while standing on top of his bunk. Col. Potter walked in the door and looked at his company clerk a long moment.

"Klinger, if you think imitating a bird is going to get you a section 8, then you're cuckoo," he said, shaking his head.

Potter looked at a stack of papers on the filing cabinet that really should have been filed earlier but given that the cabinet had melted down a few inches in height, it was probably just as well that this task hadn't been completed.

Klinger kept flapping in earnest.

"I'm not trying to act crazy, honest," he said, "I'm trying to cool the air down in this oven."

"That bad is it," Potter said, walking into his office. Klinger jumped off of his cot and followed him.

"I spent all night dreaming I was a Lebanese sausage being roasted over a spit," he said, "I woke up with my nose hairs feeling singed by this ungodly heat."

Hawkeye and B.J. barged in the door.

"I'm telling you Beej, Margaret wouldn't say one word about how she spent her leave," Hawkeye complained.

B.J. sighed.

"Why do you assume it's any of your business," he said, "Maybe she doesn't want it broadcast all over camp."

Hawkeye stopped and stared B.J. down or at least tried to, since it was a nearly impossible task.

"Excuse me, are you implying that if she did tell me, I wouldn't be able to keep it to myself?"

B.J. just looked at his bunk mate. Then he shook his head.

"No, I'm not implying anything," he said, "but it does seem that once you've heard something, it spreads around camp like wildfire."

Hawkeye poked his finger in B.J.'s chest.

"Listen I resent that," he said, "I can keep a secret. After all, I'm not a walking PA system like Klinger."

Klinger poked his head from Potter's office.

"I heard that," he said, "and I can't believe that you, Pierce would ever say anything so cruel."

With that statement, Klinger knelt on the ground, acting as if he were in deep distress.

"What's the matter with him," Potter asked as he left his office and saw his clerk on the floor.

B.J. shrugged.

"Oh Pierce said something mean to him," he said, "You know how sensitive Klinger is."

Potter shook his head.

"Look, explain no more," he said, "I don't want to hear it. I just want you all to be playing nicely by the time I get back from breakfast."

* * *

Father Mulcahey finished dressing for breakfast in his tent, when he heard a knock on the door. He opened it and his eyes widened when he saw who stood there.

"Margaret," he said, "What brings you to my door?"

She paused, looking very uncomfortable.

"Do you take confessions," she said, "even from people who aren't practicing Catholics?"

He studied the troubled look on her face and knew his answer mattered if he could just figure out how to word it.

"Yes, maybe not in the formal sense," he said, "but if you need to speak to me in confidence, I will honor your request and listen."

She nodded and he gestured for her to come into the tent and sit down.

"So what's troubling you to come to a Catholic priest," he said.

She looked away at first, looking around his tent and then back at him.

"When I was in Tokyo," she said, "Something happened. I ran into an old friend. Well, not really a friend but someone I knew. I really didn't expect to see him and well we went out for some dinner, then some drinks and then…"

"I don't think you need to explain to me the rest," Mulcahey said, "You had sexual relations with this man?"

Margaret looked up, mouth open.

"Need you ask that," she said.

He sighed.

"There's a reason why you came to talk to me," he said, "Perhaps you should tell me why that was."

She nodded, more than once.

"Yes, yes, I did have…what you said with him and…"

"You're not married so you think that's a sin?"

She rubbed her hand over her face.

"I wasn't married but he is, Father and he's gone back home to his wife and children."

"Oh dear," Mulcahey said, "I could see where this could be quite a problem."

"He doesn't plan to tell his wife about us," Margaret said, "After all, there is no us."

"Then what is it that has you so disturbed," he asked.

She shook her head.

"I can't tell you," she said, "I'm not sure why I even came here at all."

She got up and left his tent, and he watched her go wondering what part of the story she had left out.

Margaret rushed back to her tent, to unpack her suitcase which had been sitting on the floor where she had left it the past couple days. She picked out her clothes that she had paid to have laundered in Tokyo back in their drawers and her toiletries back on their shelves. Then she noticed a shirt at the bottom of her suitcase which belonged to a man and held it to her chest, smelling it. She then kept it in the suitcase to be stored with it. And there it laid, a slate grey shirt with a pair of initials on the collar, inside a suitcase stashed at the bottom of her closet.

Pity that her mind didn't store its memories the same way, she thought as she lay back on the cot. Some things just needed to be forgotten.

* * *

The man finally got dressed and left his motel to get some breakfast before heading off to the conference. On his way, he passed a worn picture of a young blonde woman posing on a bed dressed in a Kimono outfit. He gazed at it for a while, reaching out his finger to touch it before heading downstairs. What had the woman been smiling at when he took the photo? He wished he could remember it and her.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4---Here's the latest update on this story. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy it and thanks for the feedback!

* * *

Margaret sat in her booth at her favorite restaurant to hang out in Tokyo close to her hotel when she saw him. She had just finished her meal and had ordered another Scotch to finish it off with when she happened to glance out the window as a man she had not seen in several years walked on by, only inches away from where she sat in her booth.

She had to take a second look because she couldn't believe initially it was him. At first, she thought hitting the Scotch had loosened some old fragment of memory from within her and it had manifested itself in front of her like an old movie. But after the second and third look, she knew as unlikely as it appeared to be, it was definitely him.

She watched as he passed her window and approached the entrance of the small restaurant. She felt her cheeks warm and her heart catch as she saw the door open and the man walk in to be greeted by the hostess. She had stopped looking, focusing on her drink but felt his blue eyes travel around the room looking for an empty spot and then perhaps linger on her as if caught by an old memory too. She did hear footsteps and they grew louder as they approached her table.

"Margaret, is that really you," she heard a familiar voice say.

She looked up and smiled shyly.

"Yes it's really me," she said, "I'm here on leave from the 4077th but what on earth brings you out here?"

The man sat down next to the booth, not waiting to be invited. Such behavior was in fitting with his character as she remembered it.

"I'm out here on business," he said, "or at least I thought I was but now I can see what people mean about mixing business and pleasure."

"What do you mean," she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Only that it's a real pleasure to see an old close friend," he said.

She smiled bemusedly.

"We weren't really…friends."

He reached out to stroke her hair and she found herself letting him.

"But we were close."

After several hours of catching up and a couple of more rounds of drinks, they headed to her motel room. He explained that he shared his with his business partner and as soon as they had climbed the steps and opened the door, they fell into each others' arms before either thought to wonder why. He just turned to face her, crinkled his eyes in that way of his and reached for her.

"Come here," he whispered to her face and when she did, he whispered more into her ear.

Then she started kissing her and she moaned softly as his lips traveled down her neck. She found herself responding back, as if time had frozen for a while and then reawakened when the two came back together. As their lips met, he reached to unzip her dress and she heard the faint echo of soft music playing…

* * *

Margaret woke up in her cot, her cheeks aflame and her breath, shallow and quick. She wrapped her arm around her pillow. She had come to her tent to pass out after another 12 or so hours spent handing instruments to surgeons to patch young men, kids really, back together while listening to banal jokes from the surgeons. She really hadn't thought about him at all. She had her mind focused on which clamp to grab, which stitch to sew and which nurse to write up for stepping out of line in the OR. So perhaps her feelings about him had been pushed into the background where only dreams provided an escape.

She looked at her watch and noticed she was due at a meeting in about 10 minutes, so she put on some fatigues and a tee-shirt quickly and headed off to Col. Potter's office to join the rest of the executive staff.

"Why, the major's actually late today," she heard Hawkeye say as she went inside the double doors.

"Oh can it Pierce," she said back, as she took a seat next to Charles Emerson Winchester, III, the MASH's top thoracic surgeon. Most of the time he made sure everyone in earshot knew about his reputation both at Boston General and in Tokyo, but on occasion, he had his moments where he was somewhat less than pompous.

"Well, Margaret," he said, "It's good to see you back again although I imagine that Tokyo's not a city that's easy saying goodbye to."

She smiled.

"Actually, in case the rest of the camp hasn't told you, I returned early," she said.

His brows raised.

"Oh really, I hadn't heard that," he said, "I don't really pay much attention to gutter talk."

She flipped her hair back.

"It wasn't gutter talk," she said, "The rumor mill was right this time. I did return from Tokyo early."

"But what she won't do is tell us why she left the Pearl of the Orient before her leave was up to return to our humble MASH," Hawkeye said, as he prepared to launch a paper attack at B.J. who pretended he didn't see it.

Charles turned a superior eye to Hawkeye.

"Pray tell us why she should tell you that given your reputation for being quite the rumor spreader yourself," Charles said.

"Who's been giving me such bad press," Hawkeye protested, "I can keep a secret as well as anyone."

Charles laughed.

"Surely you jest," he said, "In fact, when it comes to loose lips, I believe you're second only to Corporal Klinger here."

Klinger rolled his eyes.

"That again," he said, "You let one piece of news slip and they never let you live it down."

The doors swung open and Potter walked on in, looking at his staff. Suddenly, the room grew quiet and he smiled.

"Continue as you were," he said, sitting down and looking for his coffee," You never have me fooled."

"We wouldn't try sir," Klinger said, handing him his coffee mug which was buried under papers in one box which served as an intricate part of Klinger's filing system.

Father Mulcahey sat quietly in the corner, watching everything quietly. Usually that didn't bother Margaret but his gaze irked her this morning because of what she had told him about Tokyo when she had gone to speak with him. She knew she was reading something in his expression that wasn't there. And if she were wrong, surely he wouldn't bring up her violation of the Seventh Commandment as a topic of discussion. Only in one nightmare that she had experienced when her head first hit the pillow on her cot after the last round of meatball surgery.

"What's up Potter," Hawkeye said, mostly to break the silence.

Potter looked at them gravely, which never threw any of his staff members because he looked at them that way whether he had good news or bad news.

"The camp is going to have a visitor for a couple of days," Potter said, "Someone who works in pharmaceuticals who will be introducing a new medical treatment. The trouble is, he didn't provide much in the way of information on what that would be."

"What's the treatment for," B.J. asked.

Potter shook his head.

"I don't think there was much information about that either," Potter said, "I hope it's for Korean Hemorrhagic Fever or something that's been causing us a lot of casualties."

"Maybe it's a new treatment for the clap," Hawkeye said, eyes dancing, "That's very much needed in these parts."

Charles rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Pierce, would you take your dirty mind…"

Hawkeye stood up.

"There's nothing dirty about having to address venereal diseases among military troops," he said, "I don't think it's something you can afford to turn your nose down at."

Potter nodded.

"Pierce is right Winchester," he said, "Take your blue-blooded attitude and park it."

Winchester looked pained a those words.

"We still don't even know what this medical treatment is," he said, "Aren't we jumping to conclusions here?"

Margaret sighed.

"Charles is right," she said, "If they're not going to give us much information, I think we should be ready for anything."

Hawkeye clapped his hands.

"Margaret, that's great advice," he said, "especially if they send a cute saleslady and she needs a special tour of the facilities here."

Margaret just rubbed her eyes.

"Who are they sending," she asked.

Potter looked at his notice.

"A senior executive of the company," he said, "He and his business partner have been all over this part of the world."

She nodded.

"I look forward to see what they have that could help us save more patients," she said.

"Here, here," Hawkeye said, clapping some more.

Margaret turned around and glared at him.

* * *

But later in her tent, she thought she let Hawkeye's jabs and jokes get to her too much and decided to make a conscious effort to just ignore him. She knew it was his way of showing affection to her without coming out and expressing it in front of the guys. Despite the rough road both have traveled from back in the day when they were staunch adversaries, foils for each other's actions, they had become good friends and during one night they spent together in a bombed out hut, even closer than that. She shut that memory out of her mind as quickly as it had arrived. What took place that night between them, had never been repeated.

Just like the nights she had just spent in Tokyo with someone else could never be repeated.

Margaret sighed, what a story her life was turning into!

* * *

Hawkeye had blown up some surgical gloves into balloons and started tossing them around the Swamp again, mostly to annoy Charles. But also because something troubled him and he couldn't figure out why it did. He really didn't spend much time thinking about the Major that much and couldn't for the life of him understand why he had pressed her so much on her early arrival from her leave spent in Tokyo. Maybe it was her defensive response that kept spurring him on, but she hadn't come back unhappy from her trip. Far from that, in fact, she had seemed happier, a little melancholy perhaps like someone would be if they had known great happiness and then had to leave it behind to return to reality.

"You still thinking about Margaret," the very perceptive B.J. asked while reading the latest letter written by his long-distant wife.

Hawkeye patted one of his improvised balloons up in the air.

""She seem happier," he said, "yet she came back earlier. Doesn't make sense to me."

"Did you ask her," B.J. asked, "since it's clear that for whatever reason you're not letting this one go."

"I did," he said, "and she slammed the door on me."

"Then that's your answer," B.J. said, "Just let her be on this one. Why bug her about it if to you it's all about satisfying your curiosity?"

Hawkeye grew silent, reflecting on those words.

"I'm not sure curiosity as you call it is all that it is."

B.J. rolled over in his cot to face his bunk mate.

"Then what is driving this," he asked.

Hawkeye shrugged.

"I don't know," he said, "and that's the confusing part. Why should this matter to me?"

* * *

The man took the photo of the young woman to breakfast with him inside a crowded diner where he ordered eggs and fried potatoes, ignoring his wife's admonition to lay off the starch. He took the photo out on several occasions to look at it and touch it with his finger. Where was she and what was she doing now? Was she happy now, as she had been happy in this snapshot frozen in time?

He thought about it and then tucked the photo carefully away in a place kept separate from the others of his wife and children.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 of this fanfiction. I hope you like reading it and thanks for the comments!

* * *

Hawkeye and B.J. walked to the showers. The sun already baked the compound and they were headed out that way mostly to rinse the sweat off of them and to kill some time. Several days had passed between the latest round of casualties and they was only so much tent volleyball that could be played with a wide variety of makeshift balls.

"So when do you think he's going to arrive," Hawkeye asked.

B.J. shrugged.

"Why are you asking me," he said, "I'm the last to know anything about what's going on around here."

"I just hope that whoever's being sent down here tries to sell us some more useful snakes oil this time," Hawkeye muttered.

"You didn't like the cure for trench foot that turned our patients' tootsies a nice shade of blue?"

"Only because it clashed with everything," he said, "including army fatigues."

B.J. laughed.

"Everything clashes with that," he said, "Besides it did fade in 72 hours."

"I would just like to see a new medical advancement that would actually work," Hawkeye said, "Something that could change the world of battlefield medicine as we know it."

"Maybe we'll get lucky," B.J. said, as they reached the showers.

* * *

Margaret sat in the mess tent looking at her breakfast that Igor had just slopped on her plate. She could make out the powdered eggs but wasn't sure if she could read the date stamp on the sausage. She stuck her fork in the link and discovered that she couldn't pull it back out. She thought if she tried too hard she might wind up having it flip off her fork and fly across the room. She looked around and noted that a couple of nurses were in her line of trajectory. The other direction only revealed Charles so she sighed and pulled the fork out of the sausage and sure enough…

She kept her back to him and waited for the yell to come but it didn't. Instead, Charles merely walked up quietly to her table and stood next to her until she felt his regal presence. She looked up at him.

"I think this is yours," he said, dropping the sausage next to her tray, "It seems to have somehow wound up on my plate."

She just smiled up at him.

"I'm sorry," she said, "It must have slipped."

"I see," he said, "and I trust the rest of your breakfast is still on your plate," he said.

"Yes it is Charles," she said, picking up her fork, "though I'm about to eat it."

"Would you like some company," Charles said, "That is if you keep the remainder of your flying projectiles to yourself."

"Sure, sit down," she said.

And so Charles did, and began gingerly eating his breakfast skirting the powdered eggs altogether.

"Oh what I'd give for some real ones freshly laid by a real hen," he said.

"Stand in line," Margaret said, "Thanks Charles."

He looked perplexed.

"For what?"

"For not engaging in speculation about my leaving Tokyo early," she said.

"As I said, I am not into gutter talk…not that I think anything of that nature took place when you were there…"

She looked at him sharply.

"Of course not," she said, "Nothing of the sort. It's just that some people, Pierce in particular, try to make innuendo about what I did on my vacation to titillate themselves."

"So what did you do," he said, "Did you see the sights, check out the latest clothing styles?"

She looked up at him.

"I spent some of my time doing that," she said, "I met up with some old friends."

"In the army?"

She shook her head.

"They've all resigned their commissions," she said, "and are working in the civilian world."

"Ah yes," Charles said, "The world I was so brutally snatched away from."

"A world I've never really seen," Margaret said.

Charles shook his head.

"You've been greatly deprived," he said.

Margaret just smiled.

"What's the saying about you don't miss what you don't know?"

"Said by one who doesn't know of which he speaks," Charles said.

"I did run into a couple of friends," Margaret said, "One of them you might know but not the other…"

Suddenly the intercom interrupted them as it too often did.

"Another hill got retaken, casualties will be coming by ambulance and chopper within 30 minutes," the intercom said, "Summer break is now over."

"Damn," Charles said, slamming his tray down as he and Margaret ran off in separate directions to prepare for the next onslaught of wounded.

* * *

Hawkeye and B.J. were still in the showers when the intercom sounded and back in their tents, getting suited up when the first whirrs of the chopper blades could be heard coming over the hills.

"I wonder how many they'll be," B.J. said, putting on his boots and tossing Hawkeye one of his.

"We never know until the last one is stitched and either evact or in post-op."

"If they retook the same hill that's been going back and forth all week, it's going to be a long night," B.J. sighed.

"And a couple long days," Hawkeye added as they left the Swamp, wondering when they'd see it again.

They bumped into Margaret outside the pre-op building as the first ambulance arrived waiting to be unloaded. Hawkeye peeked inside and it was wall to wall, bodies of young men in various states of injury. He just shook his head and then looked at Margaret.

"Fancy running into you in a place like this," Hawkeye said, as they both knelt down to check out a young man with bandages on his face and a tourniquet on his upper leg.

"He's a bleeder," Hawkeye said, "We've got about four minutes to find it and close it once we remove the wrap and if we leave it on, he'll lose it in a couple of hours."

B.J. ran up to Hawkeye.

"I've got a chest wound over here," he said, "Massive internal bleeding, could be a lacerated liver."

Hawkeye said.

"Take him," he said, "Margaret and I will see if we've got that four minute window to at least close off this guy's femoral artery."

B.J. looked doubtful as they heard more vehicles coming down the dirt road. '

"You might just have that and nothing more," he said.

"Damn," Hawkeye said, "I've already lost two legs this month. I'd like to save this one."

Margaret looked up at him.

"I think we can do it, but we've got to hurry," she said.

Hawkeye winked at B.J.

"You heard the boss," he said, "We'll bump into you later afterward."

They both rushed off in different directions.

* * *

Another 12 hours or so later, Hawkeye sat outside the OR too tired to take off his blood-soaked gown. B.J. sat next to him.

"Did you save the guy's leg," he asked.

Hawkeye lit a smile.

"With probably 30 seconds to spare," he said, "I'm lucky that Margaret and her deft little fingers were there."

"My what?"

Both Hawkeye and B.J. looked up at her. She began taking off her gown and Hawkeye went up to help her.

"I can handle it myself," she said, turning away, "although I know you've got the fastest hands this side of Seoul for getting a woman's clothes off."

Hawkeye laughed.

"Good one," he said, "What's a record for getting a man's clothes off?"

She looked away and Hawkeye swore he saw flush in her cheeks.

"I wouldn't know," she said, "Why would you assume that I would?"

Hawkeye looked at her for a moment then raised a brow.

"From experience, maybe?"

Now her face had clearly flushed as she looked between Hawkeye and B.J.

"Oh well, considering the circumstances…"

"I know," he said, "Look I'm not here to put you on the spot."

"Sure he's not," B.J. said, his hands folded as he sat and watched.

"Then that would be a difference," she said.

"But you did start it," he said.

She nodded much to Hawkeye's surprise as he expected a fight.

"I did," she said, "and I'm sorry."

Hawkeye shrugged.

"I didn't want an apology," he said, "I do want to hear more details about your trip to Tokyo."

She sighed.

"That again," she said, "I went to get some R & R, I got it and then I came back. Not much to say about it."

"You came back early," he added.

"My friend had left," she said, "There was no reason to stay."

Hawkeye's eyes widened.

"A-ha, so something did happen," he said, "You ran into a friend."

"Yes I did Pierce," she said, "Believe it or not, I do have some…friends"

"Was this friend a girl or a boy?"

"What is this, 20 questions?"

Hawkeye spread out his arms.

"It can be anything you want it to be."

"What I want after 12 hours of surgery is to go back to my tent and get some shuteye," she said, "before the next wave of casualties comes in."

She got up and left the room, with both men looking behind her.

"B.J.," Hawkeye said, "I do believe I am getting the impression that our Major is hiding something."

"Who can blame her with a mouth like yours," he said, "Maybe you should just leave her alone."

But Hawkeye never really was good at taking other people's advice.

* * *

Margaret lay back on her cot inside her tent which roasted everything in it like a clay oven. She closed her eyes to allow sleep to take her, wondering if she would dream of him.

* * *

A woman got out of the shower, after spending 20 minutes under its cascading warm waters. As she reached for her towel, she noticed the time that had passed. Damn, if she hurried, she had less than an hour to make it to her first seminar.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Margaret woke up after another night of tossing and turning on her cot, her clothes stuck to her by her own sweat. She sighed, wondering if she would survive the endless heat and humidity of a Korean summer. She rubbed her eyes, thinking that she could have used a few more hours of shuteye to feel more rested but she mostly felt keen disappointment because her dreams had been of the bland variety. True, they weren't the nightmares that often shook her from her sleep, but they weren't dreams about him either.

She dressed and thought about jumping in the shower, but she saw the line forming already and snaking back to the latrine, an area she didn't want to spend much time standing close to, so she decided to go snag some breakfast in the mess tent instead. She bumped into Hawkeye in line and closed her eyes, wishing she had gone with standing by the latrine even if it had been for hours.

"So how's my favorite major today," Hawkeye said, cheerfully as Igor slopped something that looked like oatmeal on his tray. It obviously wasn't the food that put him in a chipper mood.

"There's only two of us in this unit and you can't stand Charles, because he's a smarter foil to you than Frank was, and that leaves just me."

The smile dropped from his face.

"Margaret, you wound me," he said, putting his hand on his chest.

"Sorry, that's not my intention," she said, "It just came out that way."

"I can see," he said, looking at her closely, "and what's behind this somewhat acerbic sense of candor today?"

She shrugged as Igor asked her if she wanted a dollop of powdered eggs but the gesture worked as a response to Hawkeye as well.

"You don't know or you won't tell me?"

She turned around to face him.

"Pierce, what is it with you," she said, "Can't a woman have a few minutes to herself before you start in on her?"

His brows went straight up.

"You think I'm making a pass at you," he said, "Oh this is very interesting."

"I'm sure it is to you," she said, "but to me, it's annoying."'

He threw his arms up in the air.

"Far be it for me wanting to be annoying to the major," he said, "but things are a bit slow this morning and we've all got to find ways to amuse ourselves."

"You should hope that things stay quiet, because that means that there's fewer wounded," she said.

"It could also mean more young men dying," Hawkeye pointed out, "They don't come to us."

She nodded and picked up some toast before leaving the food line. Hawkeye followed her to where she sat down. She rolled her eyes when he sat down across from her.

"What do you want," she said.

He took a bite of his toast and put his chin on his hand.

"I want to hear more about your trip to Tokyo."

"Why does it interest you so much," she said, "You know, if you're fresh out of gossip, you can always try Klinger."

Father Mulcahy walked up to their table with his tray.

"Excuse me, may I sit here?"

Hawkeye gestured with his hand.

"Sure Father, maybe you can liven up the conversation."

He looked puzzled but he sat down anyway.

"Hawkeye, is anything bothering you?"

Hawkeye looked at him.

"Why do you ask that," he said, "I'm just trying to make conversation with the major here about her trip to Tokyo…"

Margaret looked up and flush filled her cheeks. Mulcahy just sipped his coffee and said nothing.

"Maybe she doesn't want to share that with you," Mulcahy said.

Margaret nodded.

"Maybe he's right," she said.

Hawkeye looked from one to the other and then grinned.

"No, there's something going on here," he said, "Somehow I feel like that you're both privy to something that I'm missing."

Margaret sighed.

"Oh Hawkeye, not everything's about you."

"I'm aware of that Margaret," he said, picking up his toast again, "but I'm feeling a little left out here."

Margaret looked over at Mulcahy.

"There he goes again," she said with a sigh, "trying to find out what he thinks I'm hiding from him."

Mulcahy just took another sip from his coffee.

"I get that all the time," he said, "You think a priest would be allowed some secrets."

Klinger had his own elaborate filing system just outside Col. Potter's office which drove everyone else at the 4077th crazy because its creator remained the only person who could successfully navigate it. Charles had spent the past 20 minutes trying to find a letter that he had written to his cousin that he had second thoughts about and then was dismayed to discover on his search mission that it was not included in the pile of letters inside the outgoing mail box.

"Where on earth could that letter be," he said, scratching his head after having just dumped the pile of incoming mail on Klinger's desk, wondering if per chance it could have been misplaced in there. Alas, it was not to be. He reached for another box of papers, labeled "incoming invoices" to search that when the company clerk entered the office.

Klinger put his clipboard down.

"What are you doing in my filing system," he asked.

Charles sniffed back.

"Surely you jest," he said, "No one on God's green earth and even in this primitive corner of it could ever in good conscience call what you have here a filing system."

Klinger waved his arms.

"Why sure it is," he said, "It all makes sense to me. A place for everything and everything has its place although I see that some things are out of place."

"I will return them to where they came from when I find my letter to my cousin," he said, "I put it in the outgoing mail but I need it back."

"Why," Klinger said, leaning over to look in that box.

"I had a revelation while sitting in my tent that perhaps I could have chosen some of my words better," he said.

Klinger laughed.

"So the major wants to try again with a softer approach," he said, "What are you after anyway that you need to try this letter writing thing again?"

Charles looked down on him, with his imperialistic demeanor that annoyed most everyone but amused Klinger.

"Nothing, I was merely exchanging pleasantries with my cousin, that's all."

"Well if that's all," Klinger said, "Then it shouldn't present such a problem for you that your letter was sent out with the rest of another box of outgoing mail earlier this morning."

Charles face turned a shade of pale.

"What do you mean it's been sent out already through the mail?"

Klinger shrugged.

"I would think the major would be happy that his letter was part of the pilot program for Maxwell Klinger's new priority mail system."

Charles tried to contain his temper.

"You guessed wrong," Charles said, stomping out of the office.

He nearly collided with Margaret who came walking in.

"What's up major," Klinger asked, "Please let it be words of kindness and praise and not criticism and cruelty."

Margaret shook his head.

"Oh Klinger, what's got into you now?"

"The other major bit my head off because I mailed his letter early," Klinger said, "Who would ever think someone would do such a thing?"

"I have a letter for you to mail out," she said, handing an envelope to the clerk.

"It won't go out until tomorrow morning," Klinger warned.

"That's fine with me," she said, "A few hours delay won't make any difference."

"Who's it too," Klinger said, looking at the envelope.

"None of your business," Margaret said, "I trust you understand the sanctity of the U.S. mail system and that it's not to be tampered with."

Klinger nodded several times.

"Oh I do major," he said, "I would never even think…"

"That's good," she said, "because if I ever found out that you even lifted a corner of the envelope flap, your bars would be surgically attached to your forehead."

Klinger took a step back and swallowed. He knew this major didn't make idle threats.

"I would never do such a thing," he said, "The sanctity of your letter is safe with me."

She nodded with a smile.

"Good, I'm glad we could reach an understanding," she said.

She walked out of the office, with both Charles and Klinger watching her as she left.

"Now there sees to be at least one happy major to me," Klinger said, before getting back to work.

But Mulcahy looked at her disappearing figure through the compound and wondered.

The elevator jammed itself filled with people attending the convention. Standing in the corner was one man closing his eyes because elevators weren't his favorite place to be. Because his eyes were closed, he missed the presence of the other who stood in the front of the crowd who had packed it wall to wall. The elevator doors closed.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7--- Here's another installment of my MASH fanfiction. Hope you enjoy reading it and thanks for the comments!

* * *

She dreamed of him again, this time while they had been walking down the narrow streets of Toyko proper window shopping mostly to kill a few hours before dinner. He had insisted on buying her a Kimono robe and finally after eying a few of them displayed in the front window of a store, Margaret had acquiesced. They had caught the merchant just as she prepared to lock up for the day and persuaded her to stay open enough so that Margaret could try on some outfits and model them in front of him.

Margaret tried two different styles of Kimono, both which flattered her shapely figure and drove him wild. She finally decided on a floral design and they rushed back to the hotel, skipping dinner spending hours enjoying each other's company instead. When she arrived back at the hotel room, she changed into her Kimono in the cramped bathroom to surprise him, and when she walked out and posed before him, he unwrapped her like a present and began kissing her.

She felt his kisses all the way to the soles of her feet and by the time they had sated their desire for each other, they decided to order their dinner through room service rather than venture out to their favorite restaurant. While waiting for their order, she had laid back on the bed, breathing heavily and looking over at him sideways.

"You know, I never quite pictured us in this situation after all this time had passed," she said.

"Time flies when you're having fun," he said in return, "and this has been the most fun I've had in quite a while."

She rolled over and rested her head on her hands, looking at him.

"It seems to go must faster here than it does back at the 4077th," Margaret said, "Sometimes time stands still at the MASH. It's fast-paced when the casualties roll in but the rest of the time, it seems like everything comes to a halt."

"I don't miss my days in the army," he said, "Uncle Sam's gotten every drop of service out of me he's going to ever get."

Margaret smiled at the determination in his voice. Not too long ago, his words would have offended her only in that they were words that she had grown up as an Army brat believing they were akin to a betrayal of one's country. But times and a variety of experiences while serving as the head nurse at the 4077th had changed her, including the gradual reshaping of her own formerly rigid views about the military lifestyle.

But she also smiled because despite his determination to divorce the army, he still traveled throughout South-Eastern Asia as a salesman dealing with a lot of military facilities as part of a contract.

"But you're still working for him," Margaret pointed out, "Indirectly anyway. And I certainly don't think there's anything wrong with that."

He rolled over and brushed her hair off her face.

"My partner does," he said, "He wishes that we'd scrub all the military spots off our sales tour but it's good money for a fledgling company and I think we help a lot of people."

Margaret smiled.

"I'm sure you do," she said, "and face it, we need all the help we can get."

Margaret woke up and again found herself wrapped up in blankets on her cot inside her stifling tent. She pushed them quickly off of her body and got up to head off to the showers, because a cold one was exactly what was in order this morning. She had to stop thinking and certainly stop dreaming about him. It's not like they were ever going to see each other again. That's the way that war time worked, it meshed people together from all corners of the world, different personalities, different cultures, people who otherwise would never find their paths crossing with one another. Then it took them and forced them in closed quarters to be entirely dependent on each other and to have thousands of more faceless strangers rely on them for their very survival.

As army trained as she was, Margaret had never gotten used to that aspect of war, even while being caught in the middle of one she deeply hated on so many different levels. Torn up and dead young men at their doorstep all the time, broken marriages, hot stifling summers such as this one and never any sign, any meaningful one anyway, that the assembly line of all the above and more would ever stop running.

She tried to shake her head, her loose curls flying to clear it and hoped that a stint in the shower would do a better job of it.

* * *

Hawkeye and B.J. sat next to Potter in the mess tent. Potter had spent most of the night unable to sleep from the oppressive heat and had retreated to a Zane Grey novel that he had already read so many times, the pages had become as worn as the covers.

"What's up," he said, looking at the two men.

They looked at each other.

"We're wondering when this sales whiz that you've been telling us about is going to arrive," Hawkeye said, "I really hope that whatever he's hawking is the real thing."

B.J. looked puzzled.

"Do you have any idea what he is bringing us?"

Potter shook his head.

"None at all," he said, "I'm right in the same camp as you two. That it's a treatment that we can actually use."

Klinger came waltzing on by their table.

"Colonial, sir," he said, "I've made sure that the VIP tent is ready for our visitor. I've even tucked in his sheets, freshened his closet and I would have placed mints on his pillow…except they melted."

Potter waved his hand.

"That's fine," he said, "I'll inspect it after breakfast."

"Say, what is so special about this sales guy anyway," Klinger said, "Is he bringing some wonder drug?"

"We don't know Klinger," Hawkeye said, "We're in the dark as much as you."

"It's not like he had any written correspondence that I could…"

Klinger looked up to see Potter's stern glance and head shake.

"Sorry Colonial," he said, "What I mean is that he should have shared more information about what he's bringing with the company clerk."

Both Hawkeye and B.J. sat up straighter. Potter just rolled his eyes.

"What do you mean Klinger," Hawkeye said, "We're the doctors who will be administrating…this treatment. In fact, if anyone should know, I'm the chief surgeon here…"

"And I'm the colonial of this outfit so I outrank you on any notification list, Pierce," Potter reminded him.

After having that settled, the other three squabbled for a while over who should be second on the notification list after their fearless leader. Potter just looked at his charges. It was sizing up to be another blazing day in more ways than one. He wondered not for the first time when either heat wave would end.

After Margaret showered and dressed, she headed off to the mess tent and hit the line. Nothing that Igor had to offer helped her appetite. So she just stuck to the basics and joined the others at the table, wondering what mine field she had just walked into this time.

"What are you all fighting about," she said.

Potter sighed.

"They can't decide who will be the second person to know after me about what the salesman from the pharmaceutical company has to show us."

She shook her head.

"What a silly thing to squabble over," she said, "As a major and head nurse, it should be me of course."

Hawkeye looked up, working himself up to object.

"Her?"

Potter had enough at that point.

"I have had enough of your squabbling during the most important meal of the day," he said, "How about when I hear, I'll call my staff including all of you into my office for a meeting and we can discuss it."

They all looked at each other and then looked up at him.

"That sounds fair enough," Margaret said, "We're all adults. We should be able to conduct ourselves like ones."

Hawkeye stuck his tongue out at her and she shrugged back.

"Well, he's flying into Seoul from Tokyo sometime today or tonight," Potter said, "so at any rate we shouldn't have long to wait."

Margaret watched the men and found her mind lingering back to Tokyo and the voices around her began fading.

* * *

The elevator door opened and the two individuals walked out lost in the group and unaware of the other's presence. They headed towards the convention hall which had begun to fill up with people attending the medical panel session.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8---Here's the latest chapter of this FF story. Sorry for the delay. Computer problems! Hope you enjoy reading it and thanks for the feedback!

* * *

Margaret scrubbed up for surgery. Another round of casualties had snuck up on them, most of them from the same dirt hill that both sides had been fighting and killing each other over the past two months. She missed the days when Radar, the former company clerk could pick up the whirl of the chopper blades through some sixth sense he had and give them due warning so that everyone within earshot would have time to exhale before rushing off towards the landing pad. Alas, the young man with a cherubic face had gotten his papers to go home on a hardship discharge after his Uncle Ed passed away and Klinger, his replacement was too busy unleashing one hair-raising scheme after another to put his ear to the wind to listen for the subtle shift to alert them that more wounded were coming.

"Nurse," Margaret gestured to a blonde, tall woman who had shipped in last week and was still trying to fit in, "Go get some beds ready in post-op. We're going to need them and we don't have much time before they get here."

The woman looked at her and took off. Margaret watched her go, wishing she could remember her name. I corps kept sending them personnel in the past several months as people at the MASH who met their points were shipped home. She knew the woman's name would pop up in her mind, it usually did in the middle of surgery while she was asked for a clamp by a surgeon who had his hand in some poor man's ripped open belly. The young men were coming to them in worse physical shape than usual because the aid stations closest to the current battles were targeted themselves and a good portion of the casualties were assigned to them.

"Margaret…"

She looked up and saw Hawkeye run towards her, dressed in that horrid Hawaiian shirt she wished she could burn.

"They're still 20 minutes away," she said.

"Where's Beej," he asked.

"In the mess tent," she said, "Igor wanted to ask him something about San Francisco culinary school. Igor still has a dream that after the war ends he'll train to be a chef."

Just as if he were aware he'd been called, B.J. had torn out of the mess tent and headed towards them.

"Sorry I'm late to this party," he said, "How many casualties this time?"

Margaret sighed.

"At least a 100 or more," she said, "They're not sure."

"Damn," B.J. said, "I wish someone would just give up that damn ant hill."

"It's not going to happen," Hawkeye said, "They're like kids on a playground playing marbles and each wanting the same shooter for their collection."

"That would actually make more sense than fighting over that damn sand dune," B.J. grumbled, "Patching up wounded kids on the playground has got to be easier than this."

"Maybe we should get our head honcho to set up a meeting with their head honcho and work this all out," Hawkeye said, "over a round of Scotch, preferably aged of course."

Margaret snorted.

"Where are we going to find that," she said, "the closest we have is worse than that rotgut you serve in your tent."

Hawkeye glared at Margaret.

"Frankly I resemble that remark," he said, "We could always ask Charles to make a charitable donation from his stash."

"Unless he could use it as a tax write-off, forget it," B.J. said.

Hawkeye chuckled and wiggled his brows.

"He wouldn't have to know about his generous act."

Margaret rolled her eyes.

"There you two go again, trying to rely on Charles to do your work for you," she said, "I can't blame him for being upset with you much of the time."

"But Margaret," Hawkeye said, "You don't have to live with him. He's unbearable."

Potter walked over to them. He had been out riding his beloved mare, Sophie when notified that more casualties were expected. Reluctantly, he parted with his mare and hurried to the clearing.

"Colonial," Hawkeye said, "We were wondering if there was any way to stop this insane ones upmanship by both sides over that damn hill."

Potter sighed.

"I doubt it," he said, "Each side seems bound and determined to keep it. They just aren't very successful at doing so."

"They could share it," Hawkeye said, "The North Koreans could keep it one week and our forces could have it the next and so forth…"

"Pierce," Potter interrupted, "There's nothing we doctors can do about what the soldiers are doing at the front. We just have to patch up the bodies afterward."

"We should send them a bill," Hawkeye muttered.

"Pierce, enough," Potter ordered, "We've got a lot of casualties on their way here and we're going to have to bust our buns and get the job done."

* * *

Margaret watched them go back and forth. Really, Hawkeye needed to have more respect for Potter's position. After all, he was the CO of the MASH and cared as much as any one of them did about the price that the war exacted from the young men who were drafted to fight it. She suddenly flashed back to another place and time.

"So you don't believe in this war," Margaret said to the man next to her, "You haven't changed then."

He saw the disappointment in her eyes and knew she awaited an answer. He also knew she wouldn't like his answer.

"Margaret, you know how I feel about it," he said, "I spent years knee deep in blood and carnage and none of it made absolutely any sense."

"But it's a war that we can win," she said, "I know it may not look like that right now but…"

He put his hand up.

"It's not a winnable war," he said, "when you have brother killing brother, fathers sending their sons to war and mothers left to mourn them."

"The U.S. won its own civil war," Margaret said.

"Did it," the man asked, "and what was the price? Battlefields filled with hundreds of dead, so many that years later you can still hear their cries when the wind carries them."

Margaret got out of bed and began looking for her clothes.

"I don't know how you can say that," she said, "If we can't win this war then it makes the whole effort pointless."

"Exactly," he said, "Because that's what it is, pointless."

"It's not pointless," she countered, "and it will be won…in time."

"Do you really believe that," he said, staring at her. Even in conflict, she was beautiful to look at, more so to hold. But she wasn't going to be placated.

"I do…I have to…to get through each day and night," she said, "But it's obviously not enough for you."

She looked at him from where he stood. His handsome face and his lean, muscular body, barely covered by a sheet. Her skin tingled at the thought of his touch, but his words irked her. They challenged beliefs buried deep inside of her, tenets that she clung to during difficult times like a security blanket.

"I stay on the fringes of it now," he admitted with a sigh, "but I'm still a part of it. I'm still in its grip."

She forgot her clothes and went back to him.

"You're doing a good service," she said, "It saves lives and doesn't take them."

She was close enough for him to stroke her face so he did.

"Margaret," he said, "We look at things so differently but that shouldn't take away from what we have."

Her eyes narrowed at his words.

"What is it that we 'have' exactly," she asked.

* * *

Margaret suddenly looked around her, after hearing the sound of ambulances arriving. Corps men already ran to meet them and unload the casualties. Hawkeye and B.J. ran to prioritize which men to rush to OR and which ones could wait. Father Mulcahy waited for direction to assist with the unfortunate men placed in the other category of those that had arrived too late for medicine to help. At that point, last rite and a final prayer was the only aid that could reach them. Mulcahy hated this part of his vocation and for a long time after coming to Korea, he had felt like a vulture awaiting an animal to breathe its last before descending on it like a scavenger. It took great introspection on his part and a few wise words from Hawkeye at a difficult time to help him realize that he provided one of the most valuable services of all.

Still part of him hated it.

"There's one over here, Father," a voice called out.

Mulcahy sighed and caressed his cross that he wore around his neck and ran towards the man, praying softly that at least for him, it wouldn't be a busy shift.

Margaret and her nurses ran to help the surgeons organize triage as they always had since Margaret had developed and organized a protocol that had attracted a lot of respect to the 4077th.

"Baker," Margaret yelled, "Help Hunnicutt with that compound fracture over there. He needs to be stabilized if there's a bleeder."

She joined Hawkeye where he examined a man with a head wound. She grimaced when she saw it, knowing that this was a case for Mulcahy. She held the man's hand which had already begin to chill.

"I think he's almost gone," Hawkeye said, fighting the primal urge that screamed inside him to pound him back to life, "I think he died on that damn hill."

"Okay doctor," she said, searching his pockets where she found a faded photo of two young children, "They'll grow up without a father."

Hawkeye closed his eyes a moment, for that's all the war gave him in cases like this one. Quickly enough, he left the man and ran to a man breathing profusely from his chest. Margaret looked at the man prostrate on the ground, next to her. His eyes faded and she called B.J. over and he took one look at him and shook his head. Then he called for Mulcahy.

* * *

Many, many hours later, they all sat in the cramped room outside the OR exhausted and tearing off gowns that were drenched in blood.

"I never thought we'd get through this load," Hawkeye said.

"We always do," B.J. said, "But what day is it now?"

"About two days later than the last time someone asked me," Potter said, wearily.

"It seems longer," Margaret said, collapsing next to him.

Klinger popped his head in, wearing his checkered "Dorothy" frock.

"There's still some coffee left over in the mess," he said, "You better hurry if you want some."

Potter folded his arms.

"As CO of this outfit, I don't have to rush," he said, "You tell Igor to save six cups."

Klinger nodded.

"Will do, but if they rip my outfit, I'm hitting the army up for a refund," he said, before leaving.

Hawkeye frowned.

"I thought he was over the dress thing," he said.

Potter shrugged.

"I think he's having a relapse," he said, "but he should know I'll never fall for it."

"Maybe you should call Sydney," Hawkeye said, "It could be serious."

"It's just another scam," Potter said, "When he sees I'm not going for it, he'll move on."

"You better hope he doesn't dress up like Martha Washington or the statue of Liberty when our guests arrive," Margaret said, "We'll be the laughing stock of all of the MASHs in Korea…again."

"Yeah, especially if Klinger makes the cover of 'Stars and Stripes' again," Hawkeye said.

Potter didn't seem concerned.

"We'll just buy out all the copies like last time."

Hawkeye stood up.

"Well I'm off to the Officer's club," he said, "Anyone care to join me."

Margaret looked up at Hawkeye.

"I will."

* * *

The woman rushed to the elevator but the doors had closed. Damn, she stood as she waited for the next one. She had tried to get up early to get a good seat for the first seminar which she eagerly anticipated. Hopefully, there would still be some left over in the front when she arrived. She looked at her watch and saw she just had a couple minutes left before it started.

Suddenly, she found her mind flashing back to another time and place. Korea and a MASH unit that had once existed in the middle of it filled with people she grew close enough with to consider themselves more of a family to her than her own flesh and blood.

And then she thought of him.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9--Hi, here's the latest chapter of this FF story. Hope you enjoy it, thanks for reading and thanks for the comments!

* * *

When Hawkeye had offered to buy her a drink at the Officers' Club, naturally Margaret had felt some degree of skepticism towards him. Okay, maybe a whole lot of it. After all, her relationship with the wise-cracking surgeon had undergone some rather interesting twists and turns since they both showed up at the 4077th at the beginning of the war or police action, as President Harry S. Truman called it. Neither of them had been prepared for the journey that they were about to take both alone and together. Margaret had been partying her way from Honolulu to Tokyo with several stops along the way. Oh, she took her military career seriously and loved being a nurse, but she was a vivacious young woman who loved a good time and knew where to find one no matter where she found herself staying.

All that had changed when she had woken up one morning inside a hotel room just outside of the base where she had been assigned as a surgical nurse at an army hospital. She had received her orders on her way to a breakfast meeting scheduled with her supervisor before starting her daily shift. The piece of paper that he had silently handed her from behind his desk had changed her life. Overnight, she had to shut herself down, close off her heart and divorce herself from the fun-loving party girl that she had been and prepare to be thrust in a war zone at a medical unit that had to pick up and move at a moment's notice and in charge of a dozen or so nurses, all of them just as scared as she was.

Not a day went by when she took a few moments here and there to remember the way she had used to be in her old life. And not a minute passed when a huge part of her that she kept firmly locked up for survival sake, missed it. A major reason why she had resented Hawkeye from the moment she had met him and he had mocked her the first time. He openly remained a fun-loving, hard partying womanizing man who never hid that part of himself and every time she saw him, he served as a reminder that she hadn't been able to show that part of herself which might be lost to her forever. Experience and observation had softened her resentment of him when she eventually realized that he wasn't a walking example of what she couldn't be but that just like her, he hid most of who he was behind a mask just like she did. Only in his case, his disguise of choice or necessity was the image of the jokester, the life of the party, the womanizer. And he wore it well right down to that disgusting Hawaiian print shirt and those ridiculous Groucho Marx glasses.

"So what's a girl like you doing in a place like this," Hawkeye asked as they headed across the compound to the building which housed the Officers' Club which existed in name only.

In reality, anyone could come there and buy a drink or play some cards these days. Both enlisted men and officers worked alongside each other for hours or even days when casualties rolled in so there seemed to be no reason they couldn't recreate together too. The harsh realities of war had a tendency to dampen regulations against fraternization between the two classes.

She looked at him just a little bit warily.

"I'm trying to find some way to kill the time," she said, "Movie night got canceled again."

"Ah yes," Hawkeye said, nodding, "Potter's latest attempts to resurrect _My Darling Clementine_ weren't successful."

"He just wanted a better copy of it than the last one we received," Margaret said, "It kept breaking and the sound went out."

"But the camp sing-along was great wasn't it," Hawkeye said, "Someday some smart movie producer's going to come up with movies that the audience can sing along to or at least throw stuff at to amuse themselves."

They both entered the building and saw the evening crowd already beginning to gather.

"What would the lady like to drink," Hawkeye asked.

Margaret shrugged.

"I'll have a Scotch," she said.

"Good choice," Hawkeye said as he went to give Igor their orders.

Margaret grabbed one of the few remaining tables and sat down, quickly sinking in her chair when she realized how tired she was after the latest marathon spent in O.R. putting bodies of young men back together again.

Hawkeye brought them their drinks and sat down, looking across at her.

"You're really tired," he said, "Are you okay?"

She nodded, shrugging him off.

"We just spent three days in O.R.," she said, "I think it'd be abnormal if I wasn't tired. What about you?"

Hawkeye sighed.

"A lot of times I think if I have one more patient put on a table in front of me, I won't have anything left to work on him…but so far in this god forsaking war, I've never quite gotten to that point."

"I know what you mean," she said, "I wonder what will happen if we ever do have that one patient too many."

Hawkeye's eyes flashed.

"We shouldn't be seeing any of them," he said, "They should be back home, worrying their parents about whether they got some woman in trouble or crashed the family car or stayed out too late. Not worrying if they're never going to see their sons again and whether or not they're going to outlive them."

Margaret stared at her glass.

"I never go to sleep at night without seeing all their faces," she said, "and then I start dreaming about them."

Hawkeye saw the weariness in her eyes. He knew it mirrored his own. For two people who fought for so long believing they were polar opposites, it turned out that they had been more alike than either would have cared to admit.

"At least you got away from it for a little while," he said, "Was Tokyo still as memorable a place as I remember it?"

She turned to look at him, quizzically.

"Is that your way of asking me if I had a good time?"

He tilted his head and shifted in his chair.

"Yeah, well, some of us haven't had leave in a while so we have to live vicariously through the experiences of others."

She shrugged before taking another sip of her Scotch.

"Tokyo's…like Tokyo, big city, lots of people with a pretty good night life," she said.

He leaned forward resting his chin on his hand.

"This is the part I want to hear about," he said.

She leaned backward, indignant.

"So is this why you invited me here, plied me with drinks, all so you can hear about what I did in Tokyo."

Hawkeye leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah, well, what's the matter with that," he said, "You didn't do anything that you're ashamed of did you, and if you did, you can tell me. Remember it's Hawkeye."

She looked at him warily.

"Yeah I remember," she said, "If I tell you anything, you'll be broadcasting it on the intercom within 20 minutes. No thanks, I think I'll pass."

He giggled and rubbed his hands together.

"Oh so something did happen," he said, "You might as well tell me now because the cat is pretty much out of the bag."

She narrowed her eyes at him as she took another belt of her drink.

"No it's not," she said, "and nothing happened. I just ran into…an old friend."

Hawkeye's interest perked.

"An old friend as in someone we both know?"

She looked at him a moment and nodded.

"It wasn't planned," she said, "We just ran into each other, same place, same time. If one of us had taken longer to get to the restaurant, we would have missed each other."

"Well timing is everything, they say," he said, "So what happened?"

"We talked for a while, we caught up and…"

She looked up and saw the glimmer in his eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips.

"And that's all I'm going to say about it."

"Oh come on Margaret, you've already told me this much, why not get the rest of it off your chest?"

She folded her arms.

"There's nothing to get off of my chest," she said, "We met, we spent time together, we parted ways."

"Like two ships that pass in the night," Hawkeye said, "That kind of thing. Did you exchange addresses so you can keep in touch?"

She shook her head.

"No we didn't," she said, "because we don't plan to do so. It was just one of those things. Nothing more to it than that."

"Did you fight?"

Her eyes held fire within them.

"No we didn't fight," she said, "He just had other…obligations."

Hawkeye's eyes widened.

"You mean he's married?"

Margaret looked wildly around the room.

"Be quiet," she said, "Must you talk so loud?"

Hawkeye saw a room crowded with people drinking and talking amongst themselves.

"Relax Margaret," he said, "No one's really interested in what we're talking about…besides us."

"Well," she said, "I don't want my R&R to become fodder for the camp gossip mill or Klinger's newsletter if he ever chooses to bring it back."

Hawkeye shook his head.

"I think it's safe to say he's cured of his journalism phase."

"Thank god," Margaret muttered.

"So Margaret, does your…ship that passed in the night have a name?"

She looked at him suddenly, startled.

"What?"

"Who is he anyway?"

Margaret grew flustered, her cheeks turning a pale pink which intrigued Hawkeye. He thought that was when she was at her prettiest but now he was more interested in what she didn't want to say.

"Margaret…"

"There you are," a loud voice belonging to the company clerk filled the Officers' Club.

Hawkeye and Margaret looked up to see Klinger still dressed in his "Dorothy Gale" outfit but mud stained it.

"Klinger, what happened to you," Margaret asked.

"Why are you embracing your feminine side again," Hawkeye said, "I thought you were cured of that."

Klinger tossed back his phony braids, with his hairy arms.

"Are you making fun of my outfit," he said.

Hawkeye backed down, seeing how upset Klinger looked.

"No…No…in fact the outfit's not bad…though it doesn't make a statement like your Scarlett gown but it's not bad…Klinger what happened to you?"

"Zale started making fun of me and we got in a fight," Klinger said, "I cut my finger on his tooth and the Colonial wants you to clean it up so it doesn't get infected."

Hawkeye looked at it.

"It's not bad," Hawkeye said, "Zale must still have some baby teeth left."

"You better give Klinger a rabies shot," Margaret said.

"We inoculated him when he first arrived, don't you remember?"

Klinger sighed.

"That's not funny," he said, "Now will you clean it up because Zale ripped my skirt and I have to see if I have any of the right color of thread for my sewing machine to fix it."

Margaret softened.

"Klinger, I might have some left over that I brought back from Tokyo if you need to borrow it," she said.

Klinger looked at them, seeing them together at a table for the first time. He frowned.

"Hey, I didn't interrupt anything did I?"

Margaret looked at Hawkeye.

"No you didn't," she said, as she started walking towards the medical building.

* * *

The woman finally allowed her memories of him to dissipate as she headed into the lecture hall which was filling quickly with people to the point where it looked like it might be standing room only. She allowed the memories of the 4077th to fade with them. She had been flashing back to her time spent there a lot lately but didn't know why.

She finally found a seat and sat to listen to the guest speaker.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10--Here's the latest chapter of this FF. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for the feedback!

* * *

Margaret sat in the post-op room reading medical records and babysitting the patients who had survived surgery and were recovering from their injuries until they could either be shipped to a better equipped hospital or returned to the battle front. The room had been packed wall to wall with casualties but a couple of ambulances had come to the 4077th to pick up several loads so there were actually some empty beds.

For once, they weren't out of pain meds nor had there been any breakins by people stealing their stash who would later sell it for a fairly handsome price on the black market. Thank goodness for small favors, Margaret sighed.

She waited for Hawkeye to show up to relieve B.J. who spent most of the time enjoying a quiet night by sitting in the corner reading and rereading some dog-eared letters from his beloved wife, Peg who was raising their daughter Erin and holding up the fort in San Francisco until the magical day came when he returned home.

She envied him for his solid relationship with his spouse and then chastised herself for it. It wasn't B.J.'s fault that her only stab at marriage had failed miserably when she had run down the aisle too quickly with two-timing Donald Penobscot. Oh, she had loved the heel right up to the point that he had transferred himself away from her after she had finally pinned him down for a reconciliation session but after a lot of painful reflection, she had finally let him go and began the next chapter of her life.

If she could blame anyone for her breakup with Penobscot, it would have to be Hawkeye for daring her in his irreverent and nearly always offensive way to reach for something better for herself than a husband who was cheated on her and wasn't even smart enough to send the right letter to the right woman in his black book.

"B.J.," she said, walking over to them, "You got another letter from your wife?"

He looked up at her and smiled.

"Nah, just the same ones," he said, "I like to take them out and reread them all every once in a while. It helps me stay connected to her."

"She probably does the same with your letters," Margaret said.

He raised his bushy brows.

"You really think so?"

She smiled.

"I know so," she said, "I used to do the same thing with letters from Donald. Messages from Frank, though the weasel used to destroy everything in writing I gave him."

"Now there's a name I hadn't heard in a while," B.J. said.

"I've been thinking a lot about my relationships the past couple of days," she said, "I didn't realize how much affair with Frank impacted his wife back in the States until I was in her shoes. I thought it was all harmless fun…but it wasn't."

B.J. didn't know what to say, not expecting such candor from a woman who usually kept intimate details about herself under her hat so to speak. She suddenly felt self-conscious and chuckled.

"I'm sorry I said that," she said, "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

He shook his head.

"You didn't Margaret," he said, "In fact, watching how much you were hurting when Donald cheated on you reined me in a couple times though it's difficult to admit it."

Now his candor surprised her.

"Really? You?"

"Yes, me."

"I never would have thought…"

He nodded.

"Me neither," he said quietly.

"Why…if you don't mind me asking?"

"War makes hell on relationships," B.J. said, "and working in close quarters with people who go from being strangers to closer than your family in such a short time breeds temptation."

She sighed.

"That makes sense," she said, "and that's why I was finally able to make peace with my anger at Donald for his betrayals but it took a long time to get there."

Hawkeye breezed in the room, dressed in what else? His blue Hawaiian shirt. At least he left the Groucho Marx disguise safely in his tent.

"I'm here," he said, cheerfully, "Did you miss me?"

B.J. grumbled.

"You're late."

Hawkeye nodded.

"I know Beej, but you know that new nurse?"

Margaret folded her arms.

"You mean Beatrice?"

"Yeah, I think that's what her name was," Hawkeye said.

"Why do I know I'm not going to like what comes next?"

Hawkeye looked taken aback.

"Oh nothing came next," he said, "I think she's playing hard to get. But she will be gotten because I'm such a charming fellow."

B.J. rolled his eyes at Margaret.

"I guess that's my cue to get out of here and get some shuteye," he said, "after I write my wife another letter."

Margaret smiled.

"Tell her hi for me."

"Will do," B.J. said, "and Hawkeye, take it easy. Sometimes your charm might be a little bit hard to take. Subtly will work a lot better with Beatrice."

Hawkeye frowned.

"How would you know," he said, "Mr. Happily Married Man who never even looks at the nurses."

"Oh I look," he said, "but I see their faces first."

Hawkeye sucked in his breath.

"Beej, what are you saying…"

But his friend and bunkmate had already left.

"You see what I have to put up with," Hawkeye said, pointing at the swinging doors.

"Hawkeye, I'm tired and I don't think I'm ready for another eight rounds of innuendos and practical jokes," she said, "So you have five minutes to exhaust your repertoire and then I want a quiet night."

He sighed.

"You're no fun," he said, settling his lanky build in a chair and looking at the ceiling.

"I left my fun in Tokyo," she muttered.

Hawkeye perked up as a smile cracked over his face.

"Oh really?"

But she was already back there.

* * *

"I'll drive you to the airport," he said, packing his bags.

She watched him, taking in his muscular build and his shoulders. Margaret always had a thing for them, preferably broad, and a pair of good ones never failed to elicit a sigh from her.

"I'll take a cab," she said, "If we have to say goodbye forever, I'd just rather do it here."

"Margaret…"

She threw up her hands.

"Look this should never have happened anyway," she said, "You're married, you've got a family and I broke my own promise to myself."

He walked over and tilted her face with his hand so he could look at it.

"What was that?"

She felt tears threatening in her eyes but refused to let them show.

"Never to fraternize with married men," she said, "I should have known better after having my heart broken by my husband."

"If you kept your promise, we wouldn't have had this weekend," he reminded her.

She turned away from him and walked to the small window that looked out onto the streets already crowded by pedestrians and cars.

"I know…"

"Then what's the problem," he said, "We bumped into each other, we hooked up and had a great time and now…"

"It's time to say goodbye," she said, softly.

"Yeah…"

She walked away from the window and back to him. Pulling him into an embrace, she kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back. Just when she thought she might float away, his scent grounded her.

"Margaret…"

"Goodbye," she whispered against his neck.

* * *

"So what did you think of the latest round of peace talks?"

Margaret looked up startled and saw Hawkeye looking at her expectantly while playing with his yo yo.

"What…?"

"You didn't hear anything I just said," he noted, "You must really have something on your mind."

She shook her head.

"I don't…Must you keep bringing that toy in here?"

Hawkeye smiled at her deft shifting of the focus off of her onto him.

"Margaret, what is it that you don't want to talk about that you have to attack my choice in recreational activities to get through a damn war?"

She looked at him and then sighed.

"Nothing that I want to share with you," she said, "Can't you respect that?"

"You make that difficult when you too preoccupied to fully appreciate my delicious wit."

She gave up and walked back to her desk. He followed her.

"Come on," he said, "Why don't you just tell me?"

She turned to face him.

"Because it's none of your business," she said, "And…"

She couldn't finish her sentence like she needed to because Father Mulcahy walked into the room.

"Father…", she said.

"Hi Margaret, Hawkeye," he said, smiling as he often did, "I thought I'd come here and check on Mr. Ryan. He asked for a rosary earlier because he had to leave his in the foxhole when they E-vaced him."

Margaret pointed to the bed on the far end where a young man with dark hair lay sleeping.

"He's had a difficult day," she said, "So he's been pretty quiet tonight."

Mulcahy nodded.

"Maybe I'll just sit with him for a while."

"You do that Father," Hawkeye said, "It will help him as much as anything we've tried."

Both Margaret and Hawkeye watched Mulcahy sit in a chair next to the man's bed.

"I hope his boss is listening," Hawkeye said, "because modern medicine isn't going to save his life."

"You tried your best," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder, "We both did."

He looked at her, thankful for her comforting gesture.

"But it's so hard when no matter what you do, it just might not be enough…"

* * *

She tried to focus on the seminar but found her mind wandering back to earlier days when sitting in an auditorium listening to a medical expert drone on about a life-saving procedure would have been unthinkable. Back in time, the lessons that were learned came drenched with blood that they often found themselves elbow deep in and mistakes no matter how painful were the best teachers of all.

"Excuse me, may I sit here?"

She heard a woman's voice and absently nodded, trying to focus on what the doctor was saying. But something niggled at her because the voice sounded familiar. She looked up and saw one of the nurses she had worked with for years back in Korea.

"Have I missed much?"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11---Here's the latest chapter of this story. Hope you like it and thanks for the comments!

* * *

Father Mulcahy sat still with patience beside the injured man the entire night. He had slipped the rosary into one of the man's limp hands and pressed his fingers around it, careful not to wake him. Then he had sat and prayed for him, including reciting several novenas as the clock ticked the hours down on the wall. As dawn finally broke sending streams of pale sunlight over the camp, he had fallen asleep in his chair.

Hawkeye and Margaret watched him their entire shift, which thankfully was slow and uneventful enough to afford them that luxury.

"He's really determined that this man will live," she said, "even though odds are, he won't see the sun set."

"I've never been much of a betting man," Hawkeye said, "unless it's poker of course but maybe his faith can do what we can't. After all, we didn't think he'd live to see the sunrise this morning."

She nodded.

"Mulcahy's not much of one of a gambler either," she noted, "and he's a much better poker player than you are."

Hawkeye shrugged.

"That's because he's got God or whoever sitting on his shoulder telling him what everyone else's hand is," he said, "Besides who can compete against a guy who turns over all his hard-won earnings to the nuns at the orphanage."

Margaret smiled.

"Who can indeed," she said, "but I give him some of my winnings anyway."

Hawkeye's brows lifted.

"You do?"

She nodded.

"But partly because of the tax write off," she said, before walking away.

He spun around.

"Wait a minute, I don't know…"

He nearly bumped into Nurse Kellye, who had entered the post-op room to begin her shift.

"Fancy running into my favorite nurse here," Hawkeye said, tipping an imaginary hat.

Kellye smiled.

"You say that to all the nurses," she said.

"But I save my best for you."

Kellye's face flushed despite her best efforts not to let her feelings toward him show. Not that she really had any romantic designs on Hawkeye, she considered him like an older brother. She hadn't seen her own family who lived in Honolulu for so long and even though she grew up upset that her older brothers teased her mercifully, she missed them so much it ached. Hawkeye's gentle teasing helped ease her homesickness when it had her in its grip.

"How's Mulcahy's patient?"

Hawkeye looked at where Mulcahy still sat asleep and his eyes grew serious.

"Not so good Kellye," he said, "We'll be surprised if he makes it through the day."

She sighed, knowing how it killed Hawkeye to admit there was nothing that his surgical skilled hands could do to save a man's life. But sometimes, the medical teams just had to do the very best they could to save someone and then just leave it to a higher power to decide who lived and who died. She had grown up in a religious home but her faith had flagged a bit during her time spent in Korea patching up broken soldiers and comforting dying ones. She didn't know how to tell her family that she had her doubts about the faith they had raised her in so she just let them continue to believe she was still devout. After all, they were thousands of miles away from her and this war. If she missed a church service now and then, they would never know and no one here would tell them.

"Father Mulcahy's never left his side for a moment," Margaret said, "He's never given up on his faith that a miracle could save this young man's life."

Kellye looked over at them both again.

"He looks exhausted," she said, "I think I'll go relieve him."

Both Hawkeye and Margaret watched as Kellye walked over to the bedridden man and pulled up another empty chair to sit next to Mulcahy who didn't stir. She took hold of the man's hand that wasn't holding the rosary into her own and started rubbing it, trying to inject some of her own warmth into him.

Hawkeye often marveled at the rapport that Kellye had with some of the most ill and injured patients ever to go through the 4077th's own version of an assembly line. She would sit with them for hours always listening to their stories about the lives that they had left behind them to a war that had stolen their youth. She always spoke softly, soothing them with comforting words on the nights in the post-op ward when the escapism and healing power of sleep eluded them. And at least once she had sweet talked a patient back from the brink of death.

Margaret looked at him and chuckled.

"I know that look," she said, "I also know that when you showed up at her tent with flowers, she was with another man."

Hawkeye remained silent, one of the rare times when his gift for gab came up empty. That hadn't been one of the proudest moments of his life but he had learned a valuable lesson about a woman he had relegated to the background of the stage production, starring himself.

"Unlike you, she was nice about it," he said, "even while she put me in my place."

Margaret nodded.

"Well she's a very nice girl," she said, "Best nurse to ever come through here and stay."

Hawkeye continued on with his monologue.

"Unlike you who just ripped my ego to shreds over Inga," he said, "Not that I didn't deserve it but you could have been gentler."

Now Margaret's eyes flared and she tried to be indignant but erupted into laughter instead.

"Pierce, I did the world or at least its female half a favor by giving you some much needed advice," she said, "You are just not the center of our universes and you need to accept that and move on."

"Oh I've moved on," Hawkeye said, sighing dramatically, "I am the kinder, gentler Pierce now and coincidentally or not, I think I'm losing my touch."

Margaret felt irritation flood her face.

"Well, you'll just have to live with it."

The double doors swung open and in walked B.J. He looked at the two of them and then he looked at where Mulcahy and Kelley sat. His eyes grew serious.

"How's the patient doing?"

Hawkeye sighed, suddenly feeling tired.

"He survived the night," he said, "I don't know if it's stubbornness on his part or Mulcahy's."

B.J. looked at the sleeping priest.

"It's going to take more than prayers to pull him through," he said.

It took Hawkeye a moment to realize that B.J. hadn't just been talking about the patient.

"What do you mean?"

B.J. remained quiet for a while.

"This might be a crisis of faith for Mulcahy," he said, "You know he's been really frustrated lately about his role in this camp."

"That's something he's always struggled with," Hawkeye said, "Feeling like he's standing in the background like the Grim Reaper."

Margaret's eyes switched from B.J. to Hawkeye.

"He must know that he's doing the very best that he can do in these situations," she reasoned, "Sometimes, the patients die despite everything any of us can do for them and when that happens, that's when he's most needed."

"It's not work any of us can do," Hawkeye said, "I could never do it even if I were a priest."

That painted an interesting picture for Margaret.

"You, a priest?"

Hawkeye folded his arms.

"Before I went into medicine, I did think about the priesthood…for about five minutes until Eliza Mae agreed to go to the movies with me."

Margaret just shook her head while B.J. looked around at the rest of the room.

"It was pretty quiet last night?"

Both Hawkeye and Margaret nodded.

"Not much casualties needed a bed," Hawkeye said, "though tomorrow became another day and either the Americans or the Koreans could decide it's time to hold the grudge match on who gets to keep that damn sand hill."

"Our luck never lasts," B.J. said.

Margaret took off her medical coat to hang up.

"Maybe this pharmaceutical guy who's coming to camp will be able to sell us a cure that actually works," she said.

Hawkeye shrugged.

"Probably more snake oil like that fungal medicine they brought us last time," he said, "Well, I'm off to the mess tent to see what road kill Igor's put on the grill this morning."

"I'll join you," Margaret said.

Hawkeye looked surprised.

"I didn't turn you off on our date at the Officers' Club the other night?"

She furrowed her brow.

"No why would you think that?"

Hawkeye frowned.

"Then I wasn't trying hard enough."

She rolled her eyes.

"Must you always joke about everything?"

He smiled wickedly.

"If I don't try with you at least twice a day, then I'm losing my touch."

The two of them left the post-op and headed off for some chow, while B.J. began his shift by walking over to where Kellye still comforted the man. When B.J. approached, Mulcahy stirred in his chair.

"Good morning Father."

Mulcahy stretched his arms and adjusted his glasses before looking up at B.J.

"Good morning B.J."

B.J. sighed.

"I don't know if it's a good morning for our patient but at least it's another morning…"

* * *

Hawkeye and Margaret loaded up their tray with anything that looked edible, which wasn't much but the grits looked harmless enough. How they tasted could only be determined by careful sampling, Hawkeye decided.

"Are you going to eat those," Margaret asked, trying to spear her fried potatoes.

He used his fork to gesture at her tray.

"Only if you eat that first," he said, pointing to the bacon, which looked translucent.

Potter walked up to them with his own tray, his face grim. Hawkeye's heart sank. Was it bad news about his comatose patient? Was it another patient?

Potter sat down across from him, still silent. Now Hawkeye felt concerned.

"What is it, Colonial," he said.

"Yeah what is it," Margaret echoed.

He looked at both of them.

"I received some very strange news…"

* * *

Margaret looked at the nurse puzzled.

"Is that really you?"

The other woman smiled.

"Yes, it's me," she said, caressing the St. Francis necklace she always wore.

"I think this guest speaker is amazing," Margaret said, "Even more so than when he came to our unit years ago."

The other woman nodded and both of them found themselves remembering…


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12---Here's the latest chapter of this FF story. I hope you like it, thanks for reading and thanks for the feedback.

* * *

Both Margaret and Hawkeye looked up at a very somber Colonial Potter.

"What is it now," Hawkeye asked, "Don't tell me that peace talks have broken down again."

"Pierce," Margaret said.

"Okay, then it must be how we're not going to be getting the latest Esther Williams picture," Hawkeye said, resting his chin on his hands.

"Let him talk," Margaret said.

"Please don't tell me that Sophie got colic again," Hawkeye said, brushing his hand over his forehead, "That camp-wide enema was a one-time thing. Next one is going to cost you."

Potter looked at both of them before responding and patiently waited until Hawkeye had stopped talking. Fortunately, Hawkeye got the hint quicker than he usually did and closed his mouth.

"You know the pharmaceutical salesman that was supposed to come out and sell us on some brand new medicine?"

"Yeah, I heard a rumor someone was coming," Hawkeye said, dryly.

Potter sipped what passed for coffee at the 4077th.

"Well I just got off the horn with HQ and he's laid up sick with the measles."

Hawkeye harrumphed.

"Some drug store salesman he is, if he can't even stay healthy."

"Pierce," Margaret scolded, "Let him continue…"

Hawkeye slunk back in his seat.

"So what are they going to do Colonial," Margaret asked.

Potter sighed.

"His business partner will be coming in his stead," he said, "Now he doesn't have as much experience as this guy but I heard he's pretty good."

Hawkeye just sat there not looking all that impressed.

"It's his medicine that needs to be good," Hawkeye said, "It doesn't matter who's hawking it. I'll take anything that works."

Margaret nodded.

"I have to agree with Pierce," she said, "We really need some new treatments on some of the cases that have come through lately."

Hawkeye dug into his grits.

"Like the man in post-op who's in a coma," he said, "Father Mulcahy's taken a special interest in him and it's probably his encouragement that's the reason this man has lived this long because I can't seem to find anything else to give him."

"Another traumatic head injury," Potter asked.

Hawkeye nodded.

"We're probably still going to lose him by sunset."

"Pierce, you know that not every patient can be saved," Potter said, "but I know how much you don't like hearing that."

"Let's just say I'm never going to invite the Grim Reaper to the Swamp for a drink and leave it at that."

"Fair enough," Potter said, "But this salesman is coming to the camp at 0900 tomorrow and I expect all of you to be on your best behavior and to serve as good hosts to our guest."

Margaret narrowed her eyes at Hawkeye.

"Which of course means that you and B.J. aren't going to show up in your ratty bathrobes."

Hawkeye threw a shocked look.

"You mean we got to dress up in our formal Sunday suits for this occasion?"

Potter looked from one of them to the other, deciding he didn't have time for this foolishness today.

"The two of you had better bury the hatchet by tomorrow morning," Potter said, "I've got enough to worry about in this camp without the two of you launching the next World War."

Hawkeye looked at Margaret.

"I think I can uphold my part in ensuring that nothing but peace and tranquility enrich this camp during this man's visit," he said, "Of course, that's kind of difficult to do in the middle of a war."

"Pierce," she said, then turned towards Potter, "You have my upmost support, you know that. Anyone in this camp that gives you trouble, I'll snap him out of it with this."

Margaret formed a fist and shook it. Hawkeye just looked at her.

"You're not planning to hit anyone with that," he said, "because if you did, it would really shatter this image I have of you."

She fired him an annoyed look.

"Do you want to step to the front of the line?"

Hawkeye turned to Potter.

"She's certainly testy isn't she?"

Potter almost rolled his eyes but stopped short, remembering that you had to get a couple of stars on your collar before you could get away with that.

"Well, Pierce are you going to behave," Potter asked wearily.

Hawkeye's face turned serious.

"Of course I will Colonial," he said, "You know you can count on me for setting a moral example…"

Margaret tried not to laugh.

"Can it Pierce," she said, "I'll keep an eye on him Colonial."

Hawkeye's mouth broke into a leering smile.

"I like the sound of that," he said, giggling.

Potter just shook his head at two of his command staff members and got up to leave. Margaret and Hawkeye watched him go.

"He's got the world on his shoulders," Margaret said.

"At least they're nice shoulders," Hawkeye said, picking up a sausage and hoping he wouldn't break a tooth on it.

Now Margaret loved a great pair of shoulders. Her ex-husband Donald Penobscot, cheating louse that he had proven to be, owned an impressive pair that she loved to grab a hold of when they slow danced on their honeymoon. That is, after they had broken him out of that fake plaster cast that Hawkeye and B.J. had sealed him up inside of as a practical joke on her wedding day.

B.J. also had impressive shoulders but his belonged to his beloved Peg so they and he were off-limits. As for Hawkeye himself…not bad. They almost made up for the rest of him.

Then there was him…

* * *

They walked through the small park with the gazebo in the center. The rain began to fall in earnest, a gentle reminder of the monsoon season which would strike Korea to the West soon enough. He grabbed her hand in his own and they rushed to seek shelter beneath the gazebo. When they got there, they laughed at themselves and he reached to stroke a wet tendril of hair off of her face.

"That was a pretty close call," he said.

"Yeah it sure was," she said, just looking into his face.

"You look beautiful with the rain dripping off of you," he said, drawing her into an embrace. She went eagerly into his arms. Their lips met and Margaret didn't want to let go of him but finally she did and looked into his eyes.

"Running into you in the restaurant was the best thing that's happened to me in a long time," she said.

He stroked her hair.

"It's interesting how life works, isn't it," he said, "Who would have thought we would have met again under such different circumstances?"

"This has been really nice," she said, "for the first time, it's going to be hard for me to come off leave."

"Oh Margaret…"

* * *

_Margaret_

She looked up suddenly and saw Hawkeye staring at her.

"What is it," she asked, annoyed to have been dragged out of her reverie.

"I was going to ask you if you wanted any more coffee," he said.

She gazed at him suspiciously.

"You're not going to put…anything funny in it are you?"

He looked offended and pointed to his chest.

"Who me?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Yes you, Pierce," she said, "You are always trying to pull one over on me but I think I can get my own coffee."

She got up to do just that. He watched her go, shaking his head and then he saw Charles heading towards him with his tray.

"Hey Charles," he yelled, "Come and sit over here. I have something to tell you."

Charles just gave him a withering glance.

"Surely, you jest."

Hawkeye spread out his arms.

"I'm not kidding," he said, "I need your opinion on a medical procedure."

Charles brows lifted and his mouth dropped open slightly as he looked at Hawkeye, but he did move in his direction.

"Margaret wouldn't even accept a cup of coffee from me," Hawkeye said.

Charles smirked.

"Smart woman," he said, "So what did you want to ask me?"

Hawkeye paused.

"What do you think of that salesman coming out to the 4077th tomorrow morning?"

Charles sighed.

"Oh that," he said, "Pierce, I think it will be wonderful if this gentleman of pharmaceuticals can provide us with anything that can help us with casualties but…"

"You have your doubts," Hawkeye finished.

"Well…"

"What is it," Hawkeye asked, leaning forward.

Charles wasn't sure why Hawkeye his perennial nemesis was interested in his response. Suspicion filled him.

"There are no miracle cures," he said, "and anyone who suggests otherwise is probably a charlatan of the worst kind."

"Fair enough," Hawkeye said, "So if this…salesman promises a miracle cure, you'll show him the door?"

"If it works…no," Charles said, "Then I'll try to find out who holds the patent on it."

"That's the way to go," Hawkeye said, "always thinking with your wallet."

"What about you," Charles said, "If he really produced a miracle drug, say one that could reverse the deterioration towards death of your comatose patient, what would you do?"

"Give it to my patient," Hawkeye said, "and then do whatever else it takes to save him. I'm a doctor."

Margaret returned to the table with her coffee.

"You both look so serious," she said.

Hawkeye shrugged.

"Winchester and I were just discussing the joys of capitalism," he said, "Winchester views life-saving medication as something to pad his bank account with and I disagree with that."

Margaret looked at Winchester, sharply.

"This salesman hasn't even stepped foot in this camp yet, let alone shown us any life-saving medications and you're already trying to make money off of it?"

Charles sniffed.

"You're both making it sound much worse than it is," he said, "after all, do you think this vendor is coming to our camp showing us his wares out of the goodness of his heart or to make some money?"

Hawkeye and Margaret looked at each other.

"I guess that's one thing we're going to find out," he said.

* * *

The man finished speaking and left the podium while waves of people sitting in the audience filled the room with applause. Margaret looked over at Kellye .

"So what do you think of this guy?"

Kellye felt a loss of words.

"He sounds like a miracle worker," she said.

Margaret felt a wave of emotion sweep through her.

"I thought that at one time," she said, "Now I'm not so sure."

Kellye stood up.

"Let's go up and talk to him before he leaves."

Margaret hesitated.

"No…no, I'd rather not," she said, "I'm starving, why don't we go to lunch and catch up on what we've been doing since we got home."

Kellye looked at her a while, then nodded. The two women got up to leave and proceeded through the crowd to the exit, not seeing the man coming at them from the opposite direction.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13--Here's the latest installment of this story. I hope you enjoy it, thanks for reading and for the feedback!

* * *

Mulcahy spent every spare moment he had with the comatose man and fortunately, for him as well as the entire camp there were few casualties during the next day or two so that left him with plenty of spare time.

"All the generals must be too hung over from some party," Hawkeye muttered as he did another stint in the post-op with Margaret.

She looked at him irritated.

"Why should it matter to you," she said, "as long as it's quiet and all our men on the front are safe."

He shook his head.

"These quiet periods never last long."

Margaret sighed, knowing that he was right. She hated to admit it whenever he was right about something but especially about this.

"Let's just hope this one lasts a few more days," she said, "and that visiting salesman has good news for us."

Hawkeye rolled his eyes.

"How often does that happen," he said, "That last medical treatment if you can call it that couldn't even cure athlete's foot."

Margaret checked on a sleeping patient and noted that his fever was dropping which meant that the penicillin was doing its job.

Klinger came waltzing in, this time in a flapper outfit, with loose beads hanging off of his dress.

"Mail call," he said, then reached into the bodice of his dress to grab some envelopes, "Here's one for you, Major and two for you Hawkeye."

Margaret picked her letter out of his hand distastefully.

"Klinger, really how disgusting."

Klinger sighed dramatically.

"Don't you worry yourself about it Major," he said, "I'm wearing a bra."

Hawkeye looked him over.

"I don't see any bra straps."

Klinger smiled.

"It doesn't have any," he said, twirling around in his dress, "I made it myself."

Margaret shook her head.

"Klinger don't you have mail to deliver?"

He nodded and saluted them.

"I do and neither rain, nor snow, nor surly majors will stop or slow me down…"

"We get the picture Klinger," Hawkeye said.

Klinger took that as his cue to get on out of there quickly. After he left, Margaret shook her head again.

"I'd be willing to give him that Section 8 he wants on days like this," she said, "Or send him to the stockades."

Hawkeye smiled.

"My, you're in a mood this morning," Hawkeye said, "Why don't you read your letter?"

She looked down at it in her hand.

"I will," she said, then glared at him, "as long as certain people aren't reading over my shoulder."

Hawkeye waved his own letters triumphantly.

"I trump you Margaret in the mail category," he said, "I'll read my letters and mind my own business while you read yours and if we want to share them, then we'll talk about it."

Margaret looked at him warily.

"I don't think I'll want to," she said, "if it's too personal."

So they turned their backs on each other and opened their envelopes. Soon enough, Hawkeye let out a whoop.

"I knew it," he grinned ear to ear, "This is great!"

She glanced behind her.

"What's so great?"

He pressed the letter to his chest.

"Why Margaret," he said, smiling coyly, "are you really interested?"

She shrugged.

"Not really," she said, "I'm just being polite."

Hawkeye continued.

"It's just that I had told this doctor at the medical seminar in Toyko a while back where the best whisky glasses and he disagreed. It turned out that he checked the place out again and conceded me the victory."

Margaret rolled her eyes.

"You get excited over the most mundane and silly things."

Hawkeye shrugged.

"There's got to be something to get excited about here," he said, "God knows there's plenty to be depressed about."

"True," Margaret conceded.

He grinned craftily.

"Why don't you share what's in your letter," he said, "Just a little tidbit."

She shook her head and held it close to her chest.

"No way," she said, "I haven't even really read it yet."

He tried to inch closer.

"Who's it from?"

She hedged.

"None of your business," she said, stuffing it in her coat pocket, "I'll read it…later."

Hawkeye waved his hands.

"Why later," he said, "It's not like it's really bustling here this morning."

She frowned at him.

"I would never trust you with it anyway," she said, "You'd run to the PA system and probably read it to the entire camp at full volume."

He looked hurt, but his eyes twinkled.

"Frankly I resemble that comment," he said, "No seriously, your secret would be safe with me. I cross my heart and hope to die."

She took one look at him while he made the earnest gesture and then shook her head.

"Yeah right," she said, "No dice Hawkeye. I'll leave you to your…whiskey glasses."

* * *

She walked over to where Mulcahy sat with the young man, whose serene appearance belied the intense battle taking place inside his body over whether or not he would wake up or succumb to his injuries. He had beat the odds so far, breath by breath. His fingers were wrapped around a rosary.

Mulcahy looked up.

"We're praying together this morning," he said, "I thought it might help."

She sat beside him.

"I think it will," she said, smiling, "I'm sure he knows you're here and sitting with him."

Mulcahy nodded.

"I know," he said, "I can feel his spirit. It doesn't want to leave his body. It's not the right time."

Margaret shook his head.

"There's nothing more we can really do for him, medically speaking," she said, looking over at Hawkeye who read his letters, "Hawkeye's really been beating himself over it."

"That makes sense," Mulcahy said, "As skilled a doctor and surgeon as he is, it's not in the nature of either to ever give up on a patient. And Haweye's had a hard time letting go even when the time is right for them to move on."

"I know," she said, "And I know it's been difficult sometimes for you when it seems like you're fighting each other for a young man's spirit."

"Sometimes I think Hawkeye resents me," Mulcahy said, quietly.

Margaret shook her head vehemently.

"Oh no, you must not think that," she said, "He respects you and the work you do very much even if he doesn't say it."

"I don't mean to get in the way when he's trying to save a life," he said, "But I have my job too and sometimes there's more than one way to save a life."

"I understand," she said, patting his shoulder, "And I know that beneath it all, he does too."

* * *

Later, they enjoyed the relative quiet of a day without death at Rosie's Bar. Rosie just sighed as the crowd milled in her club. She needed the business but she never was quite sure whether she would have a club left by the time she closed shop each night.

Hawkeye, Margaret and B.J. went to the bar.

"I'm buying a round of drinks," Hawkeye said, pulling out his wallet, "in the spirit of this quiet day."

Rosie shook her head.

"You know this quiet never lasts," she said.

He nodded.

"That's why we're drinking tonight."

She waggled her finger in his face.

"As long as you don't take over my club and call it "Rosie-land" or something like that," he said.

Hawkeye put his hand on his chest.

"I promise you we'll all be on our best behavior tonight."

She looked at him doubtfully.

"Uh-huh, right," she said, before moving on to serve drinks to a bunch of Marines at a nearby table.

Hawkeye looked over and saw Charles talking with a skimpily dressed young Korean girl who stroked his arm.

"Charles sure has a way with the ladies," he said.

"He's probably giving her a civics lesson," B.J. said.

Hawkeye shrugged.

"She'll take him for everything he's got," he said, "She aint no Eliza Doolittle."

Margaret sat quietly and pulled out her letter just to look at it. Hawkeye saw her and playfully tried to grab it. She yanked it out of his reach.

"Can it Pierce," she said, "Can't a woman who outranks you read her letter in peace?"

He looked at her, chagrined.

"Got it," he said, "Carry on."

B.J. looked at Hawkeye.

"Love letter, do you think?"

Hawkeye sipped his drink.

"Sure looks like it to me," he said, "but even though I shared one of my letters today in post-op, she won't let me peek at hers."

Margaret turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

"Shhh," she said, "I'm reading."

And indeed she was, having first glanced at the familiar handwriting and then soaking it all in word by word as he wrote about how much their weekend in Tokyo had meant to them and how beautiful and desirable she was. Margaret felt her toes curl and nearly had to stop reading to catch her breath. The man obviously had a gift for the written word that she had never seen before.

"Just look at her," Hawkeye said, "Her face is turning that lovely shade of rosy pink."

She looked up and saw that Hawkeye had propped his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, while watching her intently.

"But she wears that look so well," Hawkeye continued, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh shut up Pierce."

She continued reading and then she frowned.

"What's the matter Margaret," Hawkeye asked.

She just looked at him and shook her head.

"Nothing and like I said, it's none of your business," she said, slapping the letter back in the envelope and putting it back in her pocket, "Where can a woman find a big strapping guy to dance with around here?"

Hawkeye and B.J. looked at Margaret. She had begun a night of drinking and was on the prowl.

"We'd better stop her Beej before she starts dancing on the tables…"

B.J. nodded.

"I'll go ask her to dance."

* * *

When Kellye had left the table in the cafeteria, Margaret had decided to hang out there a little longer. They had spent a joyful hour catching up on old times and idly wondering what had happened to the people from the 4077th they hadn't seen in several years. The conversation had left her feeling both happy but a little bit sad as well.

She looked around the cafeteria and then she saw him. He looked the same as she remembered only he had grown some streaks of grey in his dark hair and some crows' feet lined his face when he smiled which he did often at the brunette woman sitting opposite him at the table. Then he happened to look up and saw her watching him. She felt her face flush and she started to turn away but not before she saw him wink at her and smile.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14--Here's the latest chapter, sorry it's been so long! Thanks for your patience, for reading and the comments! I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Margaret stepped out into the middle of the dance floor at Rosie's bar with B.J. She had always been attracted and fallen in love with tall men. Of course, they were the ones who broke her heart into a million pieces too. Each and every one of them from her first love she met her first day at a new school after her father had been assigned to Ft. Dix to her cad of an ex-husband, Donald. She felt safe with B.J. because she knew only two women held onto his heart and they were Peg and little Erin. She could step out with him, dance even slowly holding him close to her and still leave at its end with her heart intact.

"Margaret, don't let him get to you," B.J. said.

She looked at him, puzzled.

"Who?"

"Hawk," he said, "He just likes to tease the people he cares about. He doesn't mean anything by it."

Margaret sighed.

"I know," she said, "But every once in a while, he hits the mark. It's like he's constantly shooting his barbs in my direction, hoping to get lucky with one of them."

B.J. remained quiet for a moment as they continued dancing.

"Someday the war will end and we'll all go home to the people who love us," he said, quietly.

"I know that," Margaret said, "You must be really looking forward to seeing your wife and daughter again."

"Every day and every night," he said, "When I'm not counting the hours and minutes, I'm trying not to think about it so that I don't go crazy."

She smiled against his shoulder.

"I can understand that," she said, "That's what I wanted to have with Donald…but it didn't work out. Both people in a relationship have to want that same thing."

"You'll find someone Margaret," B.J. said, "A woman as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. It's just tough to find anything meaningful in the middle of a war."

She snorted.

"Don't I know it," she said, "I'm the one who met a guy at a party, got engaged and married him in the midst of a whirlwind. But all winds die out when they run out of energy and so do marriages."

B.J. heard the pain lingering in her voice, knowing it had lessened in intensity over time but that it had never left her.

"I'm sorry to say such things," Margaret said, "After all, some marriages like yours do pass the tests and last for years."

He paused.

"Peg and I had just had Erin when I had to leave them both behind," B.J. said, "She's had to do so many things, make most every decision without me."

"Must be hard," Margaret said, "but she's obviously a very strong woman."

B.J. nodded.

"She's had to be."

* * *

Hawkeye sat at another table eating pretzels and downing glass after glass of Scotch. He had lived on alcohol and snack food so long that if someone could find a way to blend the two together and patch up as an IV to get it into his system faster, he would be very grateful. He had tried to quit the drinking cold turkey a couple times but it hadn't been a pretty sight. And in case he ever thought about putting the entire camp through something like that, there was always someone there to remind him.

He raised his Scotch glass to B.J. and Margaret who were doing a two-step on the dance floor. Klinger saw him and came walking up.

"What's up Klinger," Hawkeye said, as Klinger sat down in his tight black dress number that he saved just for nights like this one.

"I've been watching Major Winchester over there," Klinger said, "That woman is going to…"

"Take him for everything he's got," Hawkeye finished, "Now you know that and I know that but Charles Emerson Winchester III isn't about to admit that he let a mere woman get the better of him."

"Shouldn't we warn him?"

Hawkeye leaned back and slugged another swallow.

"Surely you jest, as he would say," he said, "No he would never listen to us. I'm the fiend who took the chief surgeon position away from him and you're merely a cross-dressing corporal from the lower end of Ohio."

Klinger nodded.

"You have a point sir."

"In the meantime, we can sit back and watch the more regally bred among us get bilked," Hawkeye said.

"She's known for ripping men off," Klinger said, "Two marines last weekend."

Hawkeye shrugged.

"Then it will be a learning experience for Charles indeed."

* * *

B.J. looked at Margaret.

"Something bothering you?"

She started to shake her head then stopped.

"It's…nothing," she said.

"How much of nothing?"

She remained silent for a while and B.J. didn't know whether she would answer or not so he waited. Margaret knew that's what he was doing as it wasn't part of the surgeon's nature to pry into other people's private lives unlike his more obnoxious bunk mate. Suddenly she felt the words reach her lips.

"I've met a guy," she said, "Actually I met him again."

His brow furrowed.

"I understand…I think."

She sighed.

"I ran into him at a restaurant while I was on leave in Tokyo," she said, "We had a wonderful time together. Then we had to go our separate ways without looking back."

B.J. smiled.

"Until he wrote a letter," he said.

"Yeah, how did you know," she said, "Oh yeah, mail call was today and Pierce was hounding me about the letter I received from him."

"Margaret, did you want to say goodbye to him?"

She thought about that for a moment. It's not like she hadn't asked herself that so many times since she left Tokyo to return back to reality at the 4077th but she found herself looking at her feelings again from a different perspective.

"Not really," she said, "but we're two very different people who never could quite get it together. If we couldn't then, why would we be able to now?"

"Because maybe you've changed since you saw…him last," B.J. said, "Or he did, or you both did and maybe it's better timing now for a relationship when it wasn't back then."

She nodded slowly, her eyes lighting up.

"You're right," she said, "Time's passed, we both have gone through so much in our separate lives and things could be much different now."

"Are you thinking about writing him back," B.J. asked.

She paused again, still holding onto his shoulders.

"Maybe," she said, "I need to…think about it for a while."

She smiled at her.

"That sounds like a wise choice," he said, then he released her after the song stopped, "Come on, I'll buy you a drink."

* * *

Margaret lay in bed later that night, trying to get some sleep. The heat and humidity which had cloaked the unit in an oppressive blanket for the past several weeks hadn't abated. She pushed off her covers and tried not to stare too long at the ceiling of her tent. B.J.'s advice had really resonated with her. Maybe she eventually would have reached the same conclusion on her own given time but he had helped her along with his gentle words. They had gone back to where Hawkeye sat with Klinger who was wearing one of his God-forsaken outfits again trying to get out of the army. She thought he had accepted that a Section 8 just wasn't in his future and had moved on. But apparently he had been suffering from a relapse or so he told everyone else within earshot these days.

She found herself reaching for the portable light and after flicking it on, she reached for her letter and began reading it again, this time with a smile.

* * *

Hawkeye tossed some more surgical gloves that had been blown up like balloons over to B.J. who batted them back. Sleep always eluded both of them even though the camp was mercifully quiet with no casualties interrupting their sleep. Charles had passed out cold several hours ago, after coming back into the tent complaining about how some gutter snipe of a girl had ripped him off at Rosie's. Neither Hawkeye nor B.J. had much sympathy for him. Mercifully the alcohol had finally hit Charles hard, shutting up his rambling for the night.

"Beej," Hawkeye said, "I saw you dancing with the major."

"So what?"

Hawkeye laced his voice with the proper innocent tone.

"Nothing…you just make an…interesting couple."

"Margaret's a very nice woman," B.J. said, thoughtfully, "She certainly deserves more than what she's gotten."

Hawkeye found himself suddenly unable to disagree with his bunk mate's words.

* * *

Her face had flushed slightly when the man winked at her. She looked away quickly and back at her meal when suddenly she heard footsteps approach.

"Mind if I join you?"

She looked up and saw Hawkeye carrying his tray and nodded.

"Why thank you Margaret," he said, "What do you think of the conference?"

She looked over at the man who had just winked at her.

"It had its high points," she said, "I can't wait until the lecture on arterial transplants this afternoon."

Hawkeye smiled.

"Oh come on Margaret, we're the pioneers of that field of medicine," he said, "We should be giving the lectures like we used to in Korea."

"Yeah, well that was then and this is now and I really have to be going," she said, picking up her tray to leave.

As she walked away, she felt him staring into her back.


	15. Chapter 15

Phew, finally the latest chapter to this FF story is up! I hope you enjoy and thanks for the feedback! I'm trying to catch up with my FF stories.

* * *

Margaret lay in bed thinking about the night at Rosies spent in the capable arms of B.J. Hunnicutt. Not that he had any romantic feelings towards her and she for him, it had just felt so nice to be in the arms of a man who truly cared about and for women. She envied Peg for having a man like that who was so devoted to her, even if that devotion currently had to travel six thousand miles across a war zone and a huge ocean to get to its destination. After all, she had been married to a man who even while they were in close proximity, she had never felt they were further apart.

She chastised herself for her thoughts, reminding herself that she was a strong professional career Army major who didn't need a man to help her stand on her own two feet. She hadn't needed Frank Burns, or Donald Penobscot nor any of the bed fillers in between or since, not if she had her career in front of her. What troubled her is that her career only flourished during wartime. And thankfully all wars ended at some point as this latest police action would do, and then Margaret would have to think about what she planned to do with the rest of her life. She loved the army, even bragging that she had been swaddled as a newborn in khaki diapers and had more addresses than she had known what to do with. It made it difficult to form attachments with people outside her family but she wouldn't trade her formative years traveling from base to base for any other type of life.

She thought back to her recent idyllic time spent in Tokyo wrapped in the strong arms of a man who had made her forget all that for a blissful 48 hours until they said goodbye. Perhaps never to cross paths again except in her dreams.

Someone knocked on her door and it rattled, irritating her. She sprung out of bed and straightened her outfit before she even yelled at the person to identify themselves.

"It's me, Klinger," the voice said tentatively, "Mail call."

She stopped by the mirror to fix her hair a bit and then opened her door. Klinger stood there wearing that metallic gold gown that made him look like one of those fancy movie awards she had seen pictures of in magazines and he breezed right past her into her tent.

"Klinger, get out," she ordered.

He stood right in her face. Was that a flower he wore behind his ear?

"Give me my mail," she said, brusquely.

He tilted his head.

"Is the major upset with something today," he said, "Perhaps I can help…"

"If you don't step out of my tent, I'm going to…"

He backed up a step.

"No need to tell me twice," he said, eying her balled fist, "I just thought you might want to see your letter."

He began pulling it out and she grabbed it before he knew it and ripped it open. She glanced at the content and then turned her back.

"Out," she said, simply.

Klinger folded his arms.

"Aren't you going to thank me," he said, "I didn't even peek at it."

She turned around suddenly and wagged her finger in his face.

"I better not see one trace of anything that shows you did," she said.

He left the tent without a further word, the door closing behind him with a thud. Margaret sat on her cot and began reading.

* * *

Hawkeye grew bored batting around yet another surgical glove he had blown up as a balloon to serve as entertainment for him and his bunkmate B.J. who was still reading and rereading the latest letter he received from Peg.

"Erin's handling potty training much better," B.J. announced, "Peg doesn't think it will be long before she has full bladder control."

Hawkeye smiled.

"That's nice," he said, "It's right up there with my father going out on date number three with a woman he met at a conference in Boston who had better not be related to Chuckles."

B.J. shook his head.

"He hates being called that," he said, "but it fits."

Hawkeye waved his letter.

"My father went out on three dates since mom died," he said, "Now he's worked up to three dates in one week."

"He might be lonely Hawkeye," B.J. reasoned, "Surely you're not holding his desire for female companionship against him."

Hawkeye stood up and began pacing.

"Of course not," he said, "I think it's great that dad's dating. I wish he'd told me before he took the plunge so I could…"

"Give him some advice," B.J. finished with the hint of a smile, "I think your father is capable of handling himself with a woman without your feedback. If he had any trouble, you wouldn't be here criticizing him."

Hawkeye sat on his bunk again and poured a drink from the still.

"You're right, " he said, "I should just let him live and let live and be happy."

The tent swung open and Charles walked in and plopped himself on his cot.

"You're back," Hawkeye noted.

The major threw him a pithy look.

"That no good trollup took me for my entire week's pay," Charles whined.

"She's just trying to make a living," B.J. said, "The economic prospects for a young lady are a bit rough."

"She picked my pocket," Charles said, "when we were dancing."

"Doing the horizontal can be hazardous to your health and your personal wealth," Hawkeye said.

"I'm going to call the police," Charles said, "or what passes for it out here."

Hawkeye laughed.

"And what are you going to tell him," he said, "That you spent your evening with a lady of the evening?"

Charles paused to think about that and his face reddened.

"You're probably right," he said, "But I am good at reading faces and she seemed unusually honest for a woman of her station."

B.J. sighed.

"Charles, she is not your project to model into how you think a woman should behave," she said.

Charles' mouth gaped.

"I'm not trying to change her," he said, "I was simply trying to appeal to her senses by showing her the finer things in life."

Hawkeye tossed down a magazine he had been thumbing through.

"What she wants is your cash," he said, "So she can feed and shelter herself and then spend time thinking about the finer things."

Charles sigh sounded more like a bellow.

"If she would only stop chewing gum and listen…"

Hawkeye pelted him with a couple of his surgical glove balloons.

"Pierce…."

"What Charles," Hawkeye said, batting his eyes innocently.

Then Charles began pelting him back.

* * *

Margaret read the letter over and over again and then stroked the writing with her finger, before tucking the letter back in the envelope. He had written that business had been going well and he would be staying on the Asian front longer than he had planned. Her heart leapt hoping that meant they would have another chance to see each other.

She had loved dancing with him, their bodies close and then the nights spent with their bodies even closer than dancing. It was strange how the passage of time could make possible what the past could not but she didn't question it. She just reveled in the feeling of a man's arms around her and his scent surrounding her until she became heady.

She lay back and closed her eyes to dream…

* * *

"He's still the same isn't he," Kelly said, as they sat waiting for the next seminar to begin.

"Who," she had asked.

Kelly gave her a strange look.

"Why Hawkeye of course," she said and Margaret turned to look at what Kelly had seen. Hawkeye and three women giggling around him.

"Oh that," Margaret said, "I guess you're right. You'd think he never left Korea."

"Or Korea left him," Kelly said.

Margaret blinked at her words then turned to look at him again, remembering…


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 ---So sorry this one's running so behind. I hope you enjoy the update and thanks for your patience and for your comments.

* * *

Margaret sealed the envelope from where she sat at her desk inside her tent. The wind blew something fierce outside, whipping the material and threatening to pull it out from where it had been staked into the packed earth. She hadn't even bothered to reread the letter, because if she did, she knew she would never mail it. That two things might happen. She would crumple it in her hand and toss it in the trash because as hard as she might try, it would never come out perfect, in terms of capturing her feelings. The other thing that might happen is that she would reread it and ask herself again why she wrote it in the first place. For all she knew, his plans to continue to stay in the Asian Front of the Korean War might have changed at any given moment. Besides, she knew even when they had spent most of the weekend inside her hotel room, that he had family back home awaiting his return. That somewhere thousands of miles away a woman was keeping her bed warm for him.

Margaret's mind always tangled itself into knots when she pondered her feelings towards marriage. Not just her own spectacular failure at taking the plunge herself with a man she really barely knew but the marriages of others which had been touched because she tended to gravitate towards having affairs with married men. It didn't take someone like Sydney to figure out what attracted her to them like a magnetic pull she often felt powerless to overcome, because she knew what drew her was their unavailability to give her but a small part of themselves. And to expect an even smaller part of her in return. She had slept with married lieutenants first while working her way through the Army medical corps after graduating from nursing school and completing basic training. As she elevated in rank through the military hierarchy, so did the titles of those she had affairs with until she had spent most of the past two years before being sent to the Korean front and finally the 4077th MASH hanging around and partying with four starred generals, some quite a bit older than her. In fact, several of them had been assigned in previous wars with her father, on one battleground or another. Sometimes, when she lay awake at night next to a man snoring beside her, she wondered about that.

She shook her head to clear it and decided again, not to even look at the letter. To just take it to the main office and give it to Klinger to mail…no wait a minute, she couldn't let him touch it because once he did, he would never be able to resist steaming it open and taking a peek inside the envelope. And on display in front of the company clerk with the biggest pair of loose lips in the camp. She had to do the job herself, preferably when he wasn't actually there spying on everyone else's business so he could type it off on some scandal sheet he put out in print when life was slow in the compound.

She grabbed her jacket and braced herself against the wind which wasn't cold, but still pushed against her as she walked to the office. The camp was pretty quiet that day, casualties were low for a change and there was a poker match taking place in the officers' club that had been going on for the past two days.

She pushed the door open while the wind blew behind her and she entered the office to see Klinger sprawled on his cot dressed like Clara Barton. Or Florence Nightingale, as she could never be sure with Klinger. When he saw her, he jumped up on his feet, smoothed down his nurses' skirt and saluted.

She glared at him.

"Can it Klinger," she said, looking around the disorganized office for the outgoing mail box.

"How might I help the major today," he asked, sashaying around the office.

She sighed.

"I'm looking for the outgoing mail box," she said finally.

He looked around the office and finally his eyes landed on the pile of files and papers on his desk.

"I know I left it around here somewhere," Klinger said.

Homicidal thoughts filled her then.

"Klinger," she said, "Where is it?"

He looked at her suddenly, with great interest.

"What pray tell is so urgent that you'll threaten a company clerk to find it?"

Margaret rolled her eyes.

"Nothing, nothing at all," she said, "I just had a letter that I had to send out. It's just a…catalog order."

Klinger sighed dramatically and started looking again.

Suddenly, the double doors opened and then walked Hawkeye who looked around the office in interest.

"Major, what a nice surprise to see you here," he said, "What brings you to Klinger's doorstep?"

She scowled at him.

"I'm here to mail a letter and Klinger the oaf lost the outgoing mail box."

Hawkeye walked up to the cluttered desk and gingerly lifted several sheets of paper with his fingers.

"I can see how that could happen," he said, "Klinger, I've got a letter I'm sending out so find it!"

Klinger shrugged.

"I know it's around here somewhere."

Margaret looked at Hawkeye.

"What do you have to mail out that's so urgent," she asked, "You missed the subscription deadline to renew one of your tasteless magazines?"

Hawkeye smiled widely.

"No actually, I was offered a special group rate of four magazines for the price of one, which means four times the pictorials so I sent out my renewal early last week."

Margaret threw up her arms.

"So did you forget to renew one?"

Hawkeye looked at her.

"Why are you so interested in my affairs," he asked.

She gave him a look.

"I'm not interested, just curious," she said, "You don't have to tell me."

He sat on the pile of files on Klinger's desk while the company clerk got down on his hands and knees to look for the missing box beneath his desk, muttering the whole time.

"Actually, it's a letter to my elementary school teacher, Miss Marquet who taught the fourth grade," he said, "I finally figured out how to do the division tables in my head."

She waved her hand.

"There you go again," she said, "You can never take anything seriously."

He wiggled his brows.

"Frankly, I resemble that remark."

Margaret looked at Klinger, who had moved to looking under his cot.

"Do you think he'll ever find it?"  
Hawkeye shrugged.

"He'll never stop looking until something else attracts his attention," he said, "so what was in your letter?"

She flashed her eyes at him.

"None of your business."

"Okay, okay," he said, "I was just trying to make polite conversation."

"Your conversation is seldom ever polite."

"Hey that's not fair," Hawkeye said, "I've said a lot of nice things."

"Once in a while," Margaret said, "But not often."

"Okay, I'll settle for that."

"The letter's private," she said, "and I was hoping to send it out in this afternoon's mail."

Hawkeye sighed.

"With this latest wind, nothing might be going out today and hopefully nothing will be coming in," he said.

"You mean casualties," she said, nodding, "It would be nice if this quiet spell continued."

"At least until the poker tournament ended," Hawkeye said, "one way or another."

Margaret narrowed her eyes.

"Klinger, I'm surprised that you're not playing."

Klinger poked his head up.

"Igor's holding my seat until I get out of here," he said, "though he's probably lost my money by now."

"Father Mulcahey was leading last time I checked," Hawkeye said, "though Beej is breathing down his neck."

Klinger stood up and shrugged.

"My money's on the guy with the angel on his shoulder," he said, "Besides all his winnings go to the orphanage. Who can compete with that?"

"I just gave my last paycheck to the magazine publishing industry," Hawkeye said, with a sigh, "So there's no outgoing mail box?"

Margaret rolled her eyes.

"Klinger, here's a suggestion," she said, "Why don't you pick out an empty box from that pile of them over there and designate that one the new outgoing box?"

Klinger's face lit up.

"Now there's a plan," he said, "Do you want one of the big ones or the small ones?"

Margaret reached over, kicking several boxes out of her way with her combat boots and picked up a smaller one. She set it on the edge of his cluttered desk and then placed her envelope in it before she could change her mind.

"Why thank you major," Klinger said, reaching for it.

She smacked his hand fast.

"Get your paws off of my letter," she said.

Klinger knew she wasn't kidding so he removed his hand and then walked away, mumbling.

"That really told him," Hawkeye said, as he added his letter to hers in the newly designated mail box.

Margaret left the office making sure that Hawkeye walked out before her and wasn't going to peek at her missive without her looking. They walked together and while Hawkeye went to the Officer's Club and the poker tournament, the latest one to end all tournaments being held at the 4077th during this long war, or police action as the brass called it. Walking back to her tent, she thought of him and the moments that their masks had slipped down while they had spent their time together before they had bumped into each other miles away from this place and this war.

Kelly and Margaret went back to their hotel rooms after the day was done. Margaret shook her head when thinking back to Hawkeye thinking so much hadn't changed. Not that she wasn't happy to see that he bore no reminders of his nervous breakdown that had defined part of the end of the Korean War. After all, he had come close to making it before what had happened after the carefree holiday at the beach. Then as they approached the lobby of the hotel, she saw another familiar face…


	17. Chapter 17

Klinger sat in the office while Hawkeye paced endlessly around, pestering him.

"Oh come on Klinger," he cajoled, "Can't we just open it up a bit and take a little peek inside?"

The company clerk now wearing a lavender gown with a matching sash shook his head vehemently.

"Pierce, you know that's not only against army regulations," he said, "It's a federal offense and yes I know I'm trying to get out of Korea but I'm not going to exchange it for prison."

Hawkeye sighed dramatically, fluttering his arms around as he walked. Sometimes when he got restless he'd do that like a chicken might, Klinger noticed.

And the chief surgeon with the flair for the dramatic was definitely restless and bugging the hell out of him. One of those Korean gale force winds had blown through the camp during the past two days driving everyone in its path a bit of nuts but he knew what Hawkeye wanted had nothing to do with seasonal weather.

"Can't you bend the rules a little?"

Klinger folded his hairy arms and stared up at Hawkeye.

"I mean it Hawkeye. I'm not going to do anything that gets me locked up in a place worse than here…if that's possible."

"But…"

"Besides Col. Potter would find out because he's onto all my old tricks which I mostly picked up from Radar."

Hawkeye just sighed loudly and plopped himself on Klinger's cot.

"I want to know what Margaret wrote in that letter," he said, "and who's this man that she won't talk about to anyone."

"Including you I take it," Klinger said, "I think you're flirting with danger messing with the major. You might get burned and I for one don't want to be in her line of fire."

Hawkeye threw his arms up again.

"She'll never know, I'll swear it," he said, "I'm just doing this to help her. That's all, it's strictly for humanitarian reasons."

Klinger looked doubtful.

"You're doing it for Hawkeye reasons and I told you I'm not going to be a part of it," he said, "Because if you're lucky, Potter might find out and that'll be a lot better than if it's the major."

Hawkeye knew that Klinger would definitely be right about that but he just had to know what was in that letter. Just when he pestered her about the letter that he ex husband Donald Penobscot had written to her that time when they'd been driving to the 8063rd to demonstrate that surgical procedure. It had turned out of course that Donald had mixed up her letter with one he'd meant to send to his mistress.

Margaret hadn't taken that too well. But then it hadn't been all bad, he remembered with a smile.

"Now I need you to get out of my office cause I got work to do."

"Klinger…how about I offer you something in return for your trouble?"

The clerk sighed.

"That's bribery Hawkeye and it's not going to work with me…and besides you don't have anything I want except your name on a Section 8 form."

"I can't do that Klinger or they'd put me in the stockade."

"I thought so…I can't help you," he said, "and I can't believe you'd even suggest a thing."

Hawkeye looked at Klinger knowing the subject was closed…at least for now. He had to go to post-op to relieve B.J. soon. It'd been a quiet night so he'd probably gotten some shuteye in between keeping an eye on the few patients.

* * *

B.J. looked over at Margaret after checking on the comatose patient.

"Any signs he'll wake up?"

B.J. just shook his head.

"I don't know how to tell the Father this but I'm not sure he's coming back," he said, "Hard to say why the brain swelling's not receding. We checked for bleeders everywhere inside his skull."

Margaret came up and patted him on the shoulder.

"I know you and Pierce did everything you could for him," she said, "Time and good care will hopefully do the rest."

B.J. nodded looking tired. It'd been a quiet night but he'd not been able to sleep and every time she faded to sleep she ran into her dreams of her recent trip and the man…she knew that she might have been rash in sending the letter to him. But she didn't know any other way to handle it. Life was complicated enough in a war zone without letting feelings come into it. She'd mellowed out a lot since she came here but it never ceased to be a struggle for her. Hawkeye would tease her about it, with B.J. taking a gentler approach.

Hawkeye walked in suddenly telling them some joke that she vaguely remembered hearing in the past. She looked up to see him looking bright eyed.

"Good morning Ladies and Germs," he said, "How are you doing on this bright and cheerful Korean morning?"

B.J. yawned and left the comatose patient.

"You're a sight for tired eyes," he said, "I'm ready to check out the menu at the mess. Any food left?"

"Nearly all of it," Hawkeye said, "there was a protein injection courtesy of some small furry things that Igor found in the pantry."

B.J. made a face.

"I think I'll pass…or stick to that acid called coffee."

"Wise choice….what about you Margaret, what do you plan to do now?"

She sighed, adjusting her white coat.

"Get some sleep…I'm tired and Potter wants to call us into a meeting at 1400."

Hawkeye nodded.

"Oh yeah…something to do with that salesman due here soon," he said, "I think I can fit it in before my croquet match at 1500."

Margaret just rolled her eyes and looked at B.J.

"You want to join me Beej," he said, "I still need a partner."

"I'll pass…come on Margaret," he said, "I'll walk you to your tent."

She smiled at him and they left Hawkeye behind. Margaret sighed as she left the building.

"I know he's up to something," she said "I know when he smiles like that."

B.J. chuckled.

"He's curious about that letter you sent out."

Margaret narrowed her eyes.

"Why….what business is it of his? Oh don't tell me he used sneaky tactics to try to read it…"

B.J. shook his head.

"No…no…I don't think he did anything like that but he wondered about it."

She looked away one moment.

"My personal life is private and none of his business…certainly if it's going to wind up fodder for a joke."

B.J.'s face softened.

"I don't think that's why he's interested," he said, "I actually think he's concerned about you."

She harrumphed.

"I'd believe that if I saw it," she said, "With him I feel set up and waiting for the punch line."

B.J. didn't comment and she knew he knew the feeling. Hawkeye was a jokester through and through and drove everyone crazy with it.

"He cares about you Margaret. We both do."

She smiled.

"I know you do but really there's no reason to worry," she said, "I went on R&R, met some man and had a good time. He turned out to be…married and so naturally it's over."

B.J. appeared to digest that.

"Okay then just wait until some time passes and he moves on," he said, "His attention span's never been that long unless he's in OR."

"True…well I'll see you later," she said, "at Potter's meeting."

B.J. watched her as she walked inside her tent and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Margaret's eyes widened at the familiar face. No it couldn't be but as she looked closer she saw that it was him. The emotions that swirled through her, she couldn't even begin to describe. She felt words escape her and she just stared at him.

His face relaxed into a smile but his eyes…they showed something else.

"Hello Hotlips."


End file.
